8 Top Marks for Murder Read online

  ‘I know!’ I said. ‘It’s all right, Daisy. We’ll solve the case – I know it.’

  ‘I knew I could depend on you, Watson,’ she said.

  Then she stretched out beside me and fell asleep.

  It was no good me trying to do the same, now that my own brain was crawling with worries, so I propped myself up very carefully against the cold metal of my bedstead and carried on writing up the case.

  Warming air blew in through the open window (in the summer term, at least, Matron’s obsession with fresh air is almost nice) and the rest of the dorm slept. Lavinia growled, Kitty breathed softly, and from Beanie’s bed came a small regular hiccupping noise. At last I slipped out of bed, crawling over Daisy (who did not respond) and crept over to Beanie’s side. She usually sleeps with her head wrapped in her sheets, but today they had slipped away from her face, and I saw that it was damp with tears.

  ‘Beanie!’ I whispered, and shook her shoulder.

  ‘Mummy!’ said Beanie quite clearly, and then rolled over away from me.

  I went back to bed, more upset than ever. Mrs Rivers’ murder was solvable, it had to be.

  But Beanie’s mother was a problem I did not know how to fix.

  7

  The wake-up bell went off with a bright clatter, and we all leaped out of bed, Daisy calling out orders for that day’s investigations to everyone as we dressed. She did not mention what she had said to me – that Deepdean might close down. It felt too terrible to say out loud, in daylight, but we kept glancing at each other nervously.

  ‘What are you two hiding?’ asked Lavinia at last.

  ‘Nothing!’ I said, feeling myself blush.

  ‘Liar,’ said Kitty, rolling her eyes. ‘All right, let’s go!’

  But Beanie glanced at me, her brow furrowed, and I could tell that she was not fooled. The concern on her face carried on all the way down the stairs to breakfast.

  We stepped into a Dining Room in chaos. Girls were gathering and whispering together – in the toast queue, next to the porridge vat, and at each form’s table.

  ‘Gone!’ I heard. ‘Yes, overnight – her mother wouldn’t let her stay. It’s because of the MURDER!’

  In a way it was lucky for us, for, in the drama, all the usual breakfast rules were relaxed. Second-form shrimps daringly passed the butter to fifth formers, and third formers were boldly speaking to Big Girls. There was an atmosphere of high excitement – but when we sat down at the fourth-form table, Amina looked anxious and withdrawn. Clementine and Sophie sat protectively on either side of her, and of course Rose and Jose Pritchett were not there.

  ‘They’ve been taken home,’ Amina told me, noticing me looking. ‘Rose and Jose. Because of what happened.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Daisy innocently.

  Amina made a face. ‘You know perfectly well!’ she said. ‘Everyone’s fearfully upset about the murder. Rose and Jose have gone, and their mother … she said something awful about my parents being suspects. Which isn’t true! All right, they were on the table of the murder victim, but they’ve got no reason to kill her. They didn’t even know her!’

  ‘That’s not true! I heard that your father did know Mrs Rivers,’ said Daisy. ‘And he hated her.’

  ‘So?’ flashed Amina. ‘Baba hates most people. See here, he didn’t do it. Neither of them did!’

  ‘You can’t stop people wondering about it, though,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Can’t I?’ asked Amina. ‘Well! I’ll show you – and everyone! Clementine, come here!’

  She went into a furious huddle with Clementine, and as Daisy leaned in to try to overhear what they were saying, she glanced over at me in a way that I knew meant Get on with it, Hazel Wong. I looked about at the rest of the room to see what use I could be.

  Lavinia had found a new tennis magazine and was sitting reading it, ignoring everyone. I nearly nudged her to pay attention – but then I saw that she had her back very pointedly to the third-form table, where Lallie Thompson-Bates and Ella Turnbull were in the centre of a supportive ring of girls, wailing and dabbing their faces with handkerchiefs. I was reassured – Lavinia was on the case after all. Beanie had gone over to where Emily Dow was sitting on her own at the first-form shrimps’ table. She was murmuring something to Emily, who had her head lowered and her shoulders slumped. Which only left … the Big Girls’ table. I turned towards it, and saw Jennifer Stone in the middle of another huddle.

  ‘How do I know if he did it?’ I heard her say. ‘I hardly speak to him, honestly. He’s always travelling about – you’ve seen the postcards. And he never tells me anything. He’s getting married, apparently, and he only bothered to tell me yesterday! If he wants me to simply believe that he didn’t do it, he’s out of luck.’

  The other Big Girls looked delighted and scandalized all at once, but before I could hear any more, the gong went for the end of breakfast.

  8

  As we walked down to Sunday chapel, the Detective Society were rather subdued. We were all thinking over what we had seen and heard.

  ‘Oh, it’s all awful!’ said Beanie at last. ‘Rose and Jose having to leave, I mean, and Emily Dow so sad.’

  ‘Why is Emily Dow sad?’ I asked. ‘What did she say to you?’

  ‘Well, I saw she’d been looking very thin and pale recently,’ said Beanie – only Beanie would have noticed this about one of the shrimps, I thought, feeling a rush of affection for her. ‘So I asked if she was all right. The other girls in her dorm don’t like her. They’re horrid to her and they don’t let her walk down to school with them. She’s been miserable all year! I feel horrid that I never realized before.’

  ‘But you’re a fourth former!’ said Daisy. ‘Why would you notice shrimps?’

  ‘Because I used to be just like Emily,’ said Beanie. ‘In first form I wanted to leave Deepdean as well. Everything was awful, until Kitty and Clementine fell out in spring term and Kitty began to walk with me.’

  ‘Pity I wasn’t there yet,’ said Lavinia, nudging her. ‘We could have run away together. Look, doesn’t anyone want to know what I found out from the third form, and that magazine I was reading?’

  ‘Did you find out anything? I thought you were just being rude!’ said Kitty.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I was listening in to them talking. Mrs Thompson-Bates has begun travelling with her husband this year on his tours – that’s why Lallie is a boarder now. The magazine had a story about them too, about how in love they still are. Grim. But it had photos of Mr and Mrs Thompson-Bates together at the French Open last month. Now, the French Open is held at Roland Garros, and that’s in Paris!’

  ‘Well!’ said Daisy. ‘That is … that is really quite useful work, Detective Temple. It corresponds with what we saw in the T-Bs’ room last night: they both have new-season clothes from Paris. Now, what else?’

  ‘Jennifer was telling everyone about Mr Stone’s mysterious fiancée,’ I said. ‘And … well, she doesn’t like it, or him. I think she’s suspicious of her father.’

  ‘By contrast, Amina most certainly is not,’ said Daisy, nodding. ‘She seemed quite furious at my suggestion – not a bit logical! Now, this is all useful. But this morning I want us to proceed with another important part of our plan – staging a re-creation of the crime!’

  ‘How are we supposed to do that?’ asked Kitty. ‘It’s chapel!’

  ‘About that …’ said Daisy. ‘I have had a quite brilliant idea. Would you like to hear it?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ breathed Beanie.

  ‘Well,’ said Daisy, ‘just wait until we’re past Old Wing entrance, and I shall tell you.’

  At Old Wing entrance we were met by Miss Lappet, her bosom heaving expressively and a tragic expression on her face.

  ‘Girls!’ she said to us. ‘Due to – to an unfortunate event last night, there has been a change of plan. Chapel will now take place on the lawn, not in the Hall, because – well, you will be informed in due course. Now, run along to the lawn, and plea
se don’t fuss. Everything is all right.’

  That was, of course, the best way to convince us that nothing was all right. It always amazes me how much grown-ups think they can get past us, as though they believe we are only given brains when we turn twenty.

  We were determined to play her game, though, so we all curtseyed and scuttled by – but as soon as we were through familiar wood-panelled Old Wing, its candles extinguished and its rolled-out carpet beginning to look scuffed from so many feet, and into the chequerboard of Library corridor, Daisy wheeled about and faced the four of us.

  ‘Detectives!’ she hissed. ‘Miss Lappet’s silly stammering has proved to us that the mistresses are trying to hide the truth of the situation from us girls. We must ignore her and get into the Hall to take a closer look at Table Four.’

  ‘We can’t!’ said Kitty.

  ‘Of course we can!’ said Daisy, folding her arms. ‘All we need is to use a little elementary subterfuge and—’

  ‘Oh. We’re not all getting out of chapel, are we?’ said Beanie sadly.

  ‘Detective Martineau has understood it,’ said Daisy. ‘We are not all getting out of chapel. Only Hazel and I are. Now, NO ARGUING, Detectives Freebody and Temple! We have only a few minutes to put my brilliant plan into practice. Hazel, take off your hat and give it to Kitty.’

  I took off my regulation straw boater and held it out to Kitty, who snatched it rather crossly. Daisy handed hers to Beanie, as though she was conferring an honour.

  ‘Now, Beanie and Kitty, you must be us as well as yourselves at chapel. Get in the fourth-form row, place your extra hat on your hand and hold it out next to you, as though you were standing beside another girl. The mistresses will count the number of girls in each row, but they’ll do it from the hats they see. Five hats means five of us, even if two of us are really in the Hall!’

  ‘It’s a stupid plan,’ said Lavinia. ‘What if Clementine or Amina snitches on us?’

  ‘If they do, hit them. Anyway, do you have a better plan?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘No,’ said Lavinia. ‘You’ll be caught, that’s all.’

  ‘Detective Temple, I am never caught,’ said Daisy. ‘Hazel sometimes is, because she is not as good at sneaking as I am. But she is still better than any of you, which is why she is coming with me, while you go to chapel. Now, when I give the signal, you go left out of Library corridor, onto the lawn. Move quickly, so as to distract any eyes, and we’ll hide and then go right into the Hall. Are you ready?’

  Lavinia, Beanie and Kitty nodded, rather reluctantly, and Daisy took my hand. ‘On three,’ she said. ‘One, two, three!’

  The others took off at a run down the corridor, and Mamzelle, standing guard at the door into the garden, shouted out, ‘Gurrrls! Lentement, s’il vous PLAÎT!’ As we had hoped, she did not notice Daisy and me, lurking against the wall. The two of us were free to creep away, past the Library, towards the Hall.

  We were in luck. The door into the Hall from Library corridor was open and, when we peered inside, the great shadowy space was empty. There was the stage, with its heavy curtains tied back and its vast frieze of painted women hovering high above it. There were the carved wooden balconies, stained-glass windows casting coloured patterns across them.

  And there on the polished wood floor of the Hall, where the rows of seats for Prayers are usually set out, were ten rectangular tables, each covered with a white cloth. Their chairs were pushed back, napkins scattered across the floor like empty ghosts, and cutlery disarranged, as though the guests had only just left. I thought of our friend George, and his obsession with the story of the Mary Celeste, and shuddered.

  ‘Quick!’ hissed Daisy. ‘We don’t have much time! Those clodhopping policemen must be around somewhere, and they’ll be back before we know it. Hazel, let’s discover what we can from the unlucky Table Four.’

  ‘Was that a Hong Kong joke?’ I asked, for to my Chinese family the number four is as unlucky as thirteen is to Daisy.

  ‘Indeed it was,’ said Daisy. ‘I do listen to you from time to time, Hazel. Now, here we are! Table Four! Let us see what we can see.’

  9

  We were back at the crime scene, the table where Mrs Rivers had been taken ill only a few hours before. I stared around at it, remembering what I had seen last night, and shuddered.

  The number 4 was carefully inked onto a bit of gold-edged card in the centre of the tablecloth, and snuffed candles and pretty summer blooms from the Deepdean flower beds were arranged in vases along it. A salt cellar was overturned next to Mr Turnbull’s place, and its matching pepper pot sat forlornly by Mrs El Maghrabi’s. A gravy boat, whose contents were hardening unpleasantly, sat beside Mr Stone’s plate. There was Mrs Turnbull’s untouched setting, and the empty places of Mr and Mrs El Maghrabi and Mrs Dow. Mr and Mrs Thompson-Bates, Mr Turnbull, Mr Stone and Mr Dow’s plates had congealing bits of meat and vegetable on them. Only Mrs Rivers’ plate and glasses were entirely missing.

  ‘Taken away to be tested,’ said Daisy, nodding. ‘Even the worst clodhopping policemen have some standards. But, oh dear, Hazel, I see the first problem! If the poison was administered during the first course – the aspic – that plate and wine glass would have been cleared away and washed before Mrs Rivers was even taken ill. Oh, what a waste of evidence! Now, let’s see. Aside from that first course, is there anything here that only Mrs Rivers ate or drank?’

  I shook my head. I was again remembering Mrs Rivers’ final moments, and I hated the images that were spinning around my head – of her twitching and gasping for air, and of an unknown hand that had reached out and spilled poison into her glass or onto her plate.

  ‘I don’t understand how it could have happened,’ I said. ‘How did we miss it? We were watching all the time!’

  ‘Well, we must just try to work that out,’ said Daisy, ‘by sitting down and attempting to recreate the circumstances of the crime.’

  ‘But what if the police do come back?’ I asked uncomfortably.

  ‘So what if they do?’ cried Daisy. ‘We must move quickly, that’s all. And we needn’t worry about disturbing things. They will already have thoroughly photographed the crime scene, so we can move objects about without compromising the investigation. But put on your gloves, anyway, just to be on the safe side.’

  I was privately amused at that. Daisy may still be outwardly rude about the police, but she has learned to care about not disturbing police work.

  I pulled on my light summer gloves and got out this casebook, with my notes about the place settings. Daisy moved about the table, squinting at the silverware and sniffing the glasses and muttering distractedly to herself.

  I stared at Mrs Rivers’ empty seat. It looked so … so ordinary, so tidy. If I had not seen what had happened with my own eyes, I should never have believed it. Slowly I began to circle the table. I ran my hand across Mr Thompson-Bates’s chair first, then stepped round Mrs Rivers’ chair from right to left, as he had done to help her when she had been taken ill. Mr El Maghrabi was next – and I remembered the argument he’d had with Mrs Rivers – and then Mr Stone’s. Mr Stone’s place was nearer the other end of the table from Mrs Rivers, separated from her place by a flower arrangement, two candles and the gravy boat, but I remembered how he had got up and gone to stand beside her for a moment. His opportunity was clear.

  Then I moved on again, all the way to the other end of the table. Here was Mr Turnbull’s chair, directly opposite Mrs Rivers’.

  Four empty chairs on either side separated them.

  ‘Daisy!’ I said. ‘We saw that Mr Turnbull didn’t get out of his seat last night. His place is too far away to be able to reach Mrs Rivers’ glass or plate – he’d have had to throw the poison across the table, and everyone would have noticed that. He didn’t have the opportunity for the strangling, and I don’t think he had the opportunity for the poisoning either!’

  ‘Oh!’ said Daisy. ‘Hazel, this is—’

  And at that moment a voice behind u
s said:

  ‘HAZEL WONG, DAISY WELLS – WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’

  1

  I froze. Daisy ducked.

  There in the door of the Hall was Miss Lappet, her bosom heaving with emotion.

  ‘I cannot BELIEVE THIS!’ she bellowed. ‘Fourth formers MISSING CHAPEL! DESPORTING themselves at the SCENE OF – OF A TRAGEDY.’

  So the rest of the school must have been told about Mrs Rivers, I thought. I was trembling, and I felt like water all over, but there was a small part of me that was quite still and calculating.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said a quiet, deep voice behind Miss Lappet. ‘I’m afraid this is entirely my fault.’

  Miss Lappet wheeled about – to see the Inspector standing there, his forehead wrinkled up in apology, hands in the pockets of his mac.

  ‘I asked them to meet me here,’ he went on politely. ‘Or rather, I asked them to meet me outside the Hall. I have been rather … dragged into this case, I’m afraid, and I am aware that I may have to miss the rest of the day’s festivities. I was hoping to make it up to them by—’

  ‘By allowing them to poke about at the scene of a crime?’ cried Miss Lappet.

  ‘By offering to take them out for an early lunch before the garden party this afternoon,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘That is quite out of the question,’ said Miss Lappet, narrowing her eyes at him. ‘The girls have acted shockingly, and, even if it was possible for me to allow them out on a Sunday, I would not do it. However … well, if it was your idea … I understand that our rules may be confusing to someone like you. Girls, if you go back to House immediately, we shall say no more of this. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Lappet,’ we murmured, heads bowed. I could feel my heart pounding.

  ‘Good girls,’ said Miss Lappet. ‘Come along now – no running, though! Inspector, please follow us to Old Wing entrance.’