Arsenic For Tea: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery (A Wells and Wong Mystery)

by Robin Stevens

  ‘Oh don’t!’ cried Beanie. ‘We won’t! You know we won’t!’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ said Daisy, ‘but Kitty might. She talks.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ snapped Kitty. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I don’t ever even want to think about it!’ said Beanie. ‘Poor Mr Curtis! Poor Stephen! Murder is awful.’

  ‘Thank you, Beanie,’ said Daisy, rolling her eyes. ‘So, Kitty. You won’t talk? If you don’t – you can stay members of the Detective Society. Minor members, of course, but it’s an honour, see?’

  ‘I told you I’ll stay mum. But I want a badge.’

  ‘If there ever are badges,’ said Daisy grandly as Beanie’s father ground the engine and glared at us, ‘you may have one.’

  Beanie and Kitty piled into the car; it crunched wetly down the drive, and then they were gone. It made me feel homesick again – though I was still not sure for where. Though I did know that I desperately wanted to follow them away from Fallingford.

  After that Aunt Saskia got into her little car, shedding several scarves and a silver teaspoon in the doorway. She tried to kiss Lady Hastings and missed – or rather, Lady Hastings jerked away.

  Then Stephen was taken away as well. Daisy and I watched out of the first-floor window – and though the monkey puzzle was the same as ever, and the gravel drive, the whole world felt different. Now Stephen was below us, being pushed into the black back seat of the police car. Daisy had her arm round my shoulder and her most scornful expression on her face.

  ‘He shouldn’t have thought he’d get away with it,’ she said.

  ‘He nearly did,’ I pointed out.

  ‘What he was going to do to Daddy—!’ said Daisy furiously. ‘What he did to you!’

  ‘He didn’t do anything to me,’ I said quickly. ‘What about Bertie?’

  ‘Up in his room. He hasn’t even been playing his ukulele, so I know it’s bad.’

  ‘They were best friends!’ I said. ‘I mean, if boys have best friends. Imagine, having your best friend trick you like that.’

  ‘Well, I never would,’ said Daisy, squeezing my shoulder. ‘And I should think you’d notice if I tried to, anyway. You’re far cleverer than Bertie is.’

  I didn’t feel very clever, then. I didn’t feel much of anything. My thoughts were all in a tangle. Stephen had nearly got away with it. We had only solved the case by the oddest, rarest chance – a few minutes more and it would have been Lord Hastings being driven away in that police car. In that moment I wished that I had never come to Fallingford.

  9

  Inspector Priestley had not left with Stephen. He was still in the house, and somehow I felt very shy. I tried to keep out of his way – but it was no good. We were summoned to the library by Hetty, who looked very excited and curious, and when we arrived, there were Uncle Felix, Inspector Priestley and Miss Alston, standing in a very serious semicircle. The sight made my stomach wobble. It was true. They did all know each other.

  I was not afraid of Miss Alston any more exactly, now that I knew who she really was and that she was not a murderer – but I had no idea how to behave around her. I was still nervous of Uncle Felix, though. He seemed so important and official that I didn’t like the idea of being noticed by him, and I still couldn’t guess what he was thinking. And then there was Inspector Priestley. I wondered if he was cross that we had tried to hide the fact that we suspected Lord Hastings from him.

  They didn’t speak, and I didn’t know what to say. Daisy, of course, had no such scruples.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, her chin going up. ‘Hetty told us you wanted to see us. I suppose we can spare the time. What do you want to say?’

  Uncle Felix screwed in his monocle, fixing us with his eye – and then he smiled. ‘Daisy,’ he said, ‘you are incorrigible. Good of you to grant us an audience. Yes, we want to speak to you.’

  I must have looked nervous, because the Inspector said, ‘Don’t worry. You aren’t in trouble.’

  ‘Well, of course we aren’t,’ said Daisy. ‘We solved the murder for you again. I should think we deserve medals.’

  ‘Indeed you did,’ said the Inspector, ‘and in your usual fine style. I don’t doubt that we shall be able to get a conviction. However . . .’

  ‘However,’ Uncle Felix put in smoothly, ‘we need to have a word about certain other facts that you discovered, which have nothing to do with the murder.’

  ‘Such as Miss Alston being a policewoman?’ asked Daisy. She seemed thoroughly delighted to be able to annoy her uncle again without worrying that he might be a murderer.

  ‘Yes, Daisy,’ said Uncle Felix. Miss Alston shifted and coughed discreetly. ‘And what we must ask you now is that you do not pass on that knowledge to anyone else. It is most important that Miss Livedon – which, as I think you know, is Miss Alston’s real name – is able to continue working on cases such as this without being compromised.’

  ‘Of course we wouldn’t,’ said Daisy, rolling her eyes. ‘We’re absolutely discreet, aren’t we, Hazel?’

  ‘We wouldn’t ever,’ I said, nodding as hard as I could. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good,’ said Inspector Priestley, and he smiled at me in a way that I knew meant he was really glad. I felt comforted.

  Miss Alston – Livedon – smiled at us too. Although she was still in her dull, frumpy clothes, she somehow looked less like a governess and more like a real person, and I suddenly wondered if I could be like Miss Alston someday. Of course, that was silly. Miss Alston had to be able to fit in to do her job, and wherever I go I stand out as utterly different. All the same, I couldn’t help imagining it.

  ‘Miss Livedon came down to Fallingford on my orders,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘From time to time we collaborate with the Metropolitan Police.’

  So he was M, I thought. Everything was falling into place. Miss Alston had been working for Uncle Felix! There had been something about that letter – the person who wrote it seemed to know both Miss Alston and the Wells family.

  ‘We had been watching Mr Curtis for some time – we were wise to his schemes – but we needed a few more pieces of evidence to close the case. We hoped that having a policewoman on the scene would help – Margaret had told me that her dear new friend Mr Curtis was invited this weekend, and I knew I had to act. Unfortunately, he realized what Miss Livedon was up to on Saturday morning. She and I were discussing whether we should bring him in when the murder happened – and then we knew that we had to keep our part in the case quiet. I suppose you thought it might mean I was guilty . . .’

  I gulped uncomfortably. ‘Never seriously,’ said Daisy. She really is a good liar. ‘When we discovered Miss Alston’s police badge, of course, we understood everything.’

  ‘I must admit,’ said Uncle Felix, ‘you’re both very clever girls.’

  ‘Give it twenty years and they’ll have you out of a job,’ said Miss Alston, smiling at him. ‘Girls – it’s been a pleasure to teach you, and to be suspected by you. Criminals ought to beware.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Daisy. ‘So they ought.’

  I decided that I liked Miss Alston – or rather, Miss Livedon – very much indeed.

  We went upstairs – and as we passed Mr Curtis’s room, we saw that its door was hanging open and the windows had been thrown up. Fuzzy bluish day glowed through it, and it made the whole house feel lighter. The body had gone.

  The Case of Mr Curtis seemed really to be over at last.

  10

  Very soon my father heard about what had happened. He called Fallingford on a line that hissed and rustled, and I had to listen to a lot of very upset shouting down the phone. I tried to explain that I was quite all right now, because the murderer had been taken away.

  ‘But another murder, Hazel!’ cried my father, sounding as though he was very far away and upside down. ‘How do you find these things? It’s that friend of yours, Daisy. I don’t like her.’

  ‘It’s not her fault that someone was murdered in her house!�
�� I said.

  ‘I can’t hear you. I said, I don’t like her, and I don’t like all these murders. I want you safe. Do I need to come over and be with you for the next holiday?’

  ‘NO!’ I shouted.

  ‘I think I ought to. Yes. I will. I’ll take you travelling. I DON’T LIKE that friend of yours – did you HEAR me?’

  ‘NO!’ I shouted again, and then the operator cut us off.

  The day before we had to go back to Deepdean for the summer term, we had another telephone conversation, this time with the Inspector. Hetty called us to the phone as quietly as she could – Daisy’s father was still not at all fond of the police, and we knew that he wouldn’t like Inspector Priestley contacting us.

  ‘Mr Bampton’s confessed,’ said the Inspector. It was what I had been waiting for – but all the same it gave me a horrible jolt. I almost dropped the receiver, and Daisy had to catch it for me. ‘He’s in prison, awaiting trial. Because he’s seventeen, he’ll be tried as a minor – he won’t face the death penalty.’

  I felt quite dizzy for a moment. I discovered that, although I still couldn’t forgive Stephen for what he had done, I didn’t want him to be hanged for it. I suppose that makes me terribly weak – but there it is. I was glad.

  ‘Oh,’ said Daisy, as though she had just been told that the weather would be cloudy tomorrow. ‘I see. And I suppose you’ve taken all the credit again?’

  ‘What do you take me for, Madam Super?’ asked Inspector Priestley, and even in his tinny phone voice I could hear his laughter. ‘There’s a line in my official report that reads, Acting on a tip-off from schoolgirl detectives Daisy Wells and Hazel Wong, I arrested Stephen Bampton and solved the case.’

  ‘Really?’ cried Daisy.

  ‘Not really,’ I said, coming back to myself with an effort. ‘It’s a joke.’

  ‘No, not really,’ the Inspector echoed, ‘but you are both mentioned, although not by name. I’ve credited you as far as I can. I’m extremely grateful – you saved me from making an enormous and costly mistake. Arresting Lord Hastings for a crime he didn’t commit! I’d have never heard the end of it.’

  ‘I think this time we ought to get medals,’ said Daisy, grinning at me over the receiver.

  ‘They’re in the post,’ said the Inspector. ‘Now I must go. Keep up the good work. You really do have a most successful Detective Society.’

  I thought he was joking about the medals, but it turned out I was wrong. That very afternoon, the post brought a fat parcel addressed to Miss Wells and Miss Wong. Daisy scrabbled it open and shook it, and onto her bedspread rolled four shiny silver badges. They said DETECTIVE on them, and Daisy squealed with excitement. She pinned hers to her blouse, and it winked up at me ferociously.

  ‘Now we’re really proper detectives,’ she said with a sigh of happiness.

  There was a movement in the doorway, and I saw Bertie standing there. He was looking at Daisy and her badge, and his face was quite blank. Then he turned away and shut the door.

  I couldn’t quite bring myself to wear mine after that. I stuffed it down at the bottom of my tuck box and left it there.

  11

  On Saturday morning we were down early, ready to be driven back to school. Our things had been packed by Hetty, and now Mrs Doherty was fussing over us in the hall, trying to fit just one more cake into my tuck box and one more murder mystery into Daisy’s.

  ‘But perhaps you ought to stick to reading them for the moment,’ she told Daisy. ‘I think you’ve experienced quite enough to last you a lifetime.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Daisy, narrowing her eyes and staring off into the distance thoughtfully.

  Then the door from the garden banged open, and Lord Hastings was standing there in his Barbour jacket, Millie and Toast Dog surging around his boots. There had been a sort of ceasefire since the end of the case. Lord and Lady Hastings were talking again – carefully, and with many pauses, but talking all the same. None of us wanted to even breathe in case we jinxed it.

  ‘Daughter!’ he said. ‘Daughter’s friend!’ For a moment it was as if we were back at the beginning of the holiday again, and none of the dreadful things had happened.

  ‘Hello, Daddy,’ said Daisy. ‘We’re off to school.’

  ‘So you are,’ said her father, walking towards us. Then he paused and rubbed his chest thoughtfully. ‘Probably a good thing,’ he added at last. ‘This house – not exactly the right place for you at the moment.’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ said Daisy, and I couldn’t tell whether she meant it as a question or not.

  ‘I always am,’ said Lord Hastings. ‘Things have a way of working out.’ He paused again, bouncing on his toes, and then stuck out his hand towards Daisy. Daisy took it very daintily – and then, all of a sudden, threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  ‘Steady on,’ said Lord Hastings. ‘Daisy, come now, you’re far too old for this!’ But as he said it, he lifted her up so her feet left the stones of the hall entirely.

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t kill anyone,’ said Daisy into his ear. ‘I’m glad you’re good.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Lord Hastings. ‘It’s a terrible relief, I can tell you. Do you know, I started to wonder if I had ill-wished Mr Curtis dead?’

  Daisy burst out laughing. ‘Silly Daddy!’ she said, letting go of him and leaping down to the ground again. ‘As if you could!’

  ‘And you could?’ asked her father.

  ‘I,’ said Daisy, ‘can do anything. And even though she doesn’t like to mention it, so can Hazel.’

  She grinned at me, and after a moment I smiled back at her. Lord Hastings shuffled off towards the billiard room, thumping Toast Dog on his fat behind and sighing. I hoped he would be all right. At least he had Chapman, Hetty and Mrs Doherty to look after him.

  ‘Good old Watson,’ said Daisy. She took my hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m glad you’ve been here this holiday. Don’t tell anyone, but it would have been awful without you.’

  ‘You too,’ I said. And I decided that being friends with Daisy was worth all the murders in the world.

  ‘Detective Society for ever,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Detective Society for ever,’ I agreed.

  As we shook hands, there in the hall, I felt happy again at last.

  12

  On Sunday morning, the last day of holiday before the summer term, I woke up in my narrow, lumpy bed at Deepdean. The window was open, and chilly April morning air was gusting in and creeping under our blankets and sheets. Beanie whimpered and wriggled lower in her bed, Kitty snored, and Lavinia sighed and rolled over like a heavy whale. I could smell the breakfast porridge burning downstairs, and when I turned my head I saw my trunk gaping open, still only half unpacked. I knew I would catch it from Matron when she came in and saw it. I sat up, my school pyjamas scratching my neck and arms, and took a deep breath.

  Daisy bounced up out of bed, throwing off her blankets in one wild movement, and waved at me. ‘Hello, Hazel!’ she said. ‘Back to the boredom. Cabbage and Latin for miles, and no murder anywhere. Why are you smiling?’

  ‘No reason,’ I said.

  And just like that, I wasn’t homesick any more.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  All of the people in this book are absolutely fictional – but some real places and names have managed to creep in. Thank you all (you know who you are) for letting me make you part of Daisy and Hazel’s world. Special thanks, though, go to:

  Boadie and her family. Fallingford House would not exist without them – and it would not look the way it does without Boadie’s truly unique map drawing skills. Not many people would have included the family stuffed birds, but she did.

  Amy and Emily, who introduced me to the real Millie and Toast Dog, two most exceptional animals. I have tried to remember them with the fondness they deserve.

  And Saskia, aspiring Jessica Fletcher – I hope she will not see any connection between her real self and her fictional alter ego apa
rt from the name.

  As well as all of the wonderful friends and family members who were mentioned in the last book (I still love you all in exactly equal amounts) several people made a special contribution to the creation of Arsenic for Tea:

  The Goodes, as kind as their name, who gave me a place to stay and a space to write in the difficult first months when nothing made sense and every character was in five rooms at once.

  My brilliant first readers: my mother, Kathie Booth Stevens, my crit partner, Melinda Salisbury and my agent, Gemma Cooper. You were all perfectly right, and the book is much better because of your extremely clever suggestions.

  My editor Nat Doherty, who has been fantastic at coralling my plot and encouraging Arsenic for Tea to be the best and most food-filled book it can be. My publicist Harriet Venn, for her enthusiasm in promoting the series, and Mainga Bhima and the whole Random team – any book is a collaborative effort, and I could not have done it without a single one of you.

  Nina Tara, for bringing my books to life with her glorious maps and illustrations, and Laura Bird and the Art team for creating such wonderful covers for them.

  Matthew, for love, support and yet more helpful suggestions about bears, and the Smalleys for single-handedly promoting the book in every bookstore they visit. Thanks especially to Carolyn, for putting treacle tart on the Fallingford menu.

  Everyone who has, in so many wonderful ways, spread the word about Murder Most Unladylike – especially the Blackwell’s Oxford team, who have put all of their considerable energy and enthusiasm behind the book. You have all bowled me over, and I am inexpressably grateful.

  My parents, for their unending pride and love – you made me what I am, and I am very lucky to be related to you.

  And finally, my agent Gemma Cooper. You are a true fairy godmother. Here’s to many more!