Mistletoe and Murder: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery

by Robin Stevens

  I bit into my first mince pie and my mouth flooded with spices and candied fruit. For a while, everything was quiet. We all sat or leaned or lay across the sofa, or the carpet next to the fire, and demolished all the mince pies. I could sense the five of us drawing closer together.

  Then there was a knock on the door, and in walked Michael Butler.

  The fire cast heavy shadows across the room – the sky outside really was darkening, although the snow seemed to have stopped.

  ‘PC Cross is coming up,’ said Michael shortly. ‘Wants to talk to us all again. I’ve called in Cheng as well … ah, here he is.’

  The door opened again, and in came Alfred. He had the sort of expression on his face of someone who knew he was not welcome, and had decided to come in anyway.

  ‘Cheng,’ said Michael coolly. ‘The policeman is on his way. Will you help the investigation this time, or simply slip away again?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Alfred, though he flinched as he said it. ‘I see no reason not to help simply because I disliked the man.’

  ‘Disliked him? You hated him!’

  ‘And with good reason!’ said Alfred, his voice rising. ‘He was foul to me, Butler, but you could never see it for what it was.’

  ‘Because it was nothing!’ cried Michael. ‘If you were English, you’d understand.’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re all so proud of being English,’ said Alfred. ‘Everyone is someone else’s cousin. You even look alike!’

  There was a heavy tramp of feet on the stairs, and a knock on the door.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said PC Cross’s voice. ‘May I come in?’

  8

  Michael and Alfred stepped away from each other. ‘Of course,’ said Bertie.

  PC Cross opened the door, his stomach still straining against his blue jacket and his face red. Behind him, looking annoyed (and still wearing his paper crown), was Donald.

  I knew that Daisy had dismissed PC Cross as a clodhopper, but that was the very thing about him that made me uneasy. The fact that he had not simply accepted the accident explanation showed me that he would keep on plodding until he arrived at the truth.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said PC Cross, removing his tall blue hat respectfully. ‘I’m glad you’re all here: I’d like to speak to you together. There are some things about this incident that I still do not understand.’

  ‘Chummy set up the fishing line and then tripped over it,’ said Bertie, distressed. ‘Why do I have to keep on saying it?’

  ‘But why would he do something so dangerous?’ asked PC Cross. ‘Did he not understand that someone could be seriously hurt?’

  ‘Chummy loved to play tricks,’ said Bertie. ‘It went wrong. That’s all.’

  ‘But if it was an accident, who telephoned Miss Price? Why was Mr Melling wearing outdoor shoes, and why did he trip over his own trap? I know I’m not the quickest fellow, and that means that I need to understand. If I don’t, my Super certainly won’t, and I shall be in hot water. It’s odd – I have been a policeman for fifteen years, but I have never before investigated a death. I never seem to be in the right place at the right time. It’s become a station joke. So I mean to get to the bottom of this, now, and prove that I can do it. My superior officers are all on their Christmas holidays, it being the afternoon of the twenty-fourth of December. I want to have it cleared up by the time they return. So, if you please – who telephoned Miss Price?’

  The room went silent. And then … ‘I called Amanda,’ said Donald. ‘I crept downstairs just after it happened and telephoned her. I wanted her to come and see Chummy. I wanted to, er, upset her. I – I should have said so earlier. I apologize.’

  I gasped. Was it possible we had been wrong?

  ‘I made the call, that’s all!’ Donald repeated. ‘So that’s cleared up. Now will you leave us in peace?’

  ‘Soon,’ said PC Cross. ‘I have asked for the body to be moved. Someone will come for it this afternoon. But before I come to any conclusions, my questions must be answered.’

  ‘This is idiotic,’ said Donald.

  ‘I am sorry that you think so,’ said PC Cross. ‘But before we continue, there is one more thing. If you made the call, Mr Melling, then I do not have any further questions for Miss Price, and that means that she and the other young ladies do not need to be mixed up in this any longer.’ He looked at me and Daisy.

  ‘Oh, we’re quite all right!’ said Daisy. ‘Though very upset, of course, we are bearing up marvellously. We can stay.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I would like to ask that you and your young friends’ – he looked pointedly at Alexander and George – ‘stay away from this staircase until my investigations are over. I believe you two girls were removed from Maudlin yesterday by the Master. Now that your involvement in the case is over, his orders should be respected.’

  I saw that he would not be budged, any more than he would stop digging. This was a bad thing for the murderer, and it was almost as bad for our detective societies. PC Cross would keep on halting our investigation until his own was completed.

  9

  ‘Well!’ said Daisy. ‘If you insist. George, Hazel, Alexander, I feel a sudden and urgent need for some fresh air.’

  With PC Cross and the Maudlin students watching us, we filed out of Bertie’s rooms. Then we clattered down the stairs at a most furious pace (pulling on our coats as we did so) and rushed out of the entranceway to the staircase. Daisy took my elbow, and led us all round to the left, through the archway to the library and the dons’ garden.

  ‘Hold up,’ said Alexander in alarm, the tip of his nose turning pink with the cold. ‘We can’t go in there. We’re not allowed!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Daisy, wrapping one arm more firmly through mine and reaching out with the other to twist the big metal ring on the garden door. ‘If PC Cross has removed us from the staircase, we must just take the chance to investigate the garden. After all, we know that Chummy used the drainpipe that leads to it last night, and Bertie climbed through it as well. It is part of the crime scene, and we must examine it!’

  I wanted to disagree with her – the great metal ring of the door in front of us seemed to be the very symbol of how closed-off Cambridge was turning out to be – but then I thought about it. We might never get another such chance, especially as the snow was beginning to fall again.

  ‘All right!’ I said. ‘But some of us need to keep watch.’

  ‘Excellent idea, Watson,’ said Daisy. ‘Thank you for volunteering. And who from the Pinkertons?’

  ‘George will,’ said Alexander quickly. George looked at him and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Of course I will,’ he said drily, ‘Alex.’ I got the uncomfortable feeling then that he had reached exactly the same conclusion about Alexander’s feelings that I had.

  ‘George,’ said Alexander, cheeks turning redder. ‘Come on, Daisy, let’s go detect!’

  Daisy seemed not to see his expression. She was already grappling eagerly with the door. ‘Hurry up!’ she hissed at Alexander. A moment later, they had both disappeared into the dons’ garden.

  George and I were left on our own. I smiled shyly at him. He was so different from the George I had had in my head for so many months, and yet he was the same. Clever, confident, always pushing his way into conversations, he was the other half of the kind, open Alexander, just as I was Daisy’s. There were so many things I wanted to ask him that I hardly knew where to begin.

  ‘Were you sent from India?’ I asked at last. ‘To go to school, I mean?’

  George quirked his lips. ‘I came all the way from London,’ he said. ‘I was born here, and so was Harold. It’s only my father who’s from India – but, of course, that’s the only part of me anyone can see. I’m really more British than Alexander.’

  ‘Oh!’ I said. ‘Do you ever – I mean, not that I do – does it ever make you upset?’

  ‘Every day, of course,’ said George. ‘The trick is never to let it show, and always to dress the pa
rt.’

  I wondered what he had thought of me before he met me, and what he thought of me now.

  ‘I always liked you, from the first letter you sent to Alex,’ said George, just as though I had asked him. ‘And Alex likes you too. Although as I said before, Alex isn’t always the best judge of people. I don’t know why he’s wasting his time over Daisy.’

  ‘She’s my best friend!’ I said.

  ‘She’s brilliant,’ said George. ‘She’s the sort of person you don’t forget. But I don’t think she’s the sort of person who falls in love.’

  He must have seen my horrified expression, because he said, ‘So. We’re down to three suspects. Alfred, Donald and Michael.’

  ‘We are,’ I agreed, trying to tear my mind away and settle back on the case. ‘Moss is innocent, and he thinks Donald did it.’

  ‘He does!’ George agreed. ‘I saw that as well. Not that it proves anything, but it’s interesting.’

  ‘I worked out something else too, when we were drawing the map,’ I said.

  ‘Oh?’ asked George, rubbing his gloved hands together. Snow was beginning to drift down again, settling on his shoulders and turning his dark hair white.

  ‘Every time we went up the stairs, we disturbed someone. You saw: Alfred, and Moss. Every sound we made echoed like anything. Even if the nail was already in place before the night of the murder, it would have been hard for the murderer to set the trap without making a noise and alerting someone to what he was doing. And I realized: imagine Michael trying to get all the way up the stairs and into Chummy’s rooms without someone hearing him! If Moss had been listening out, and had heard him coming all the way up the staircase, he’d never have mistaken him for Donald, who would only have had to creep across the landing!’

  George nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking that too. Alfred might just have managed it – he’d only have had to go up one flight of stairs – but Donald wouldn’t have had to climb any stairs at all.’

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘He’s got a motive, and he knew that Chummy was out of his rooms and Moss was locked away, so it was safe to set the trap. If it was him … it fits.’

  ‘If,’ said George. ‘This is all good guesswork, but we don’t know for certain. We need more evidence.’

  Behind us, the gate creaked open.

  10

  It was Alexander and Daisy. Alexander was filthy at the elbows and knees. He even had some mud in his hair. Daisy, however, had only one small spot of dirt at the end of her nose. She was smiling, and she had one hand held behind her back.

  ‘Wotcher,’ she said to us.

  ‘We found something,’ said Alexander, behind her.

  ‘Would you like to find out what it is?’ Daisy asked teasingly. ‘I know we’re working together. But all the same, I want you to play a game for it.’

  ‘Oh?’ said George. I saw a spark come into his eyes.

  ‘A guessing game,’ said Daisy. ‘You two have three guesses as to what is behind my back. If you guess right, I shall show it to you. But if you get it wrong, I will punish you.’

  ‘Daisy!’ I said.

  ‘All you have to do is get it right!’ said Daisy. ‘It’s quite easy, really.’

  ‘All right,’ said George. ‘I promise, we’ll win.’

  ‘First guess,’ said Daisy. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Of course. The thing behind your back is … a glove.’

  Daisy’s smile widened. ‘It isn’t a glove,’ she said. ‘Not even close. Second guess. Hazel, your turn.’

  ‘The thing behind your back is …’ I paused. I stared at Alexander, and it was funny how my detective senses showed me exactly the blue of his eyes and the three freckles on his nose and the way the mud clumped in his hair. It was terribly embarrassing, and I looked down. ‘The thing behind your back is a roof tile,’ I said, and I knew as I said it that it was wrong.

  ‘Wrong again,’ said Daisy, and she nudged Alexander triumphantly. The dimple in his cheek appeared again, and I felt myself go hot all over. ‘We did find some of those, freshly broken and scattered on the ground, supporting our theory that Chummy was climbing about on the roof last night, but it isn’t that. Last go.’

  ‘Mine again,’ said George. ‘Let’s see. This is difficult. But – well – the thing behind your back. Could it possibly be … a bit of wood?’

  Alexander’s face fell. ‘How did you know?’ he asked. He looked at Daisy, and I had another twinge. Why should he look at her like that all the time?

  ‘It is a garden,’ said George. ‘You were holding the clue, so it couldn’t be footprints. It wasn’t tiles, you said so. It might have been clothing – but you were so sure it wasn’t a glove that I decided that couldn’t be it either. A bit of wood seemed the only thing left. So, show it!’

  Daisy brought her hand round, and there in her palm was a length of branch.

  I could see at once why they had picked it up. It had been broken at both ends, quite deliberately – it looked like it had come from one of the trees in the garden – and the breaks were still fresh and yellow. Both ends looked squashed as well, as though they had been pressed hard against something, and there was a dent in the middle of it that ran across its width, as though something had knocked into it. It was most interesting, and almost certainly a clue.

  ‘There,’ said Daisy. ‘Look at that! Now, that wasn’t the only thing we found. There were plenty of footprints, as well, all the way from the bottom of the drainpipe to the garden wall.’

  ‘One set?’ asked George.

  ‘No,’ said Daisy. ‘More than that. Two distinct sets, and there may have been more. We could hardly see beneath the snow. Alexander had to brush a good deal of it away.’

  ‘So, what now?’ asked George. ‘We’ve got the wood, but how does it fit in? Who does it point to?’

  And that was when the snow began to fall in earnest.

  1

  It was like a feather duvet bursting in the sky. I gasped. Alexander spread his fingers wide and laughed with delight, and George stuck out his tongue as though he wanted to eat it. Daisy simply tipped her head up to the sky and let the flakes fall across her face. When she looked down again, there were perfect white feathers on her eyelashes and eyebrows. She looked rather like the Snow Queen. Alexander and I both put out our hands to brush the snow away, and then paused.

  ‘We won’t be able to hang around here for much longer!’ said George. ‘What say you to a detective meeting, while we can?’

  ‘Yes indeed!’ said Daisy. ‘I do believe we are on the way to the truth, but we are not there yet. Come on, under the archway. Hazel, get out your casebook. It’s time for a meeting.’

  We huddled together under the arch between the Library Quad and the East Quad, breathing out white air as the snow fell around us. I gripped a pencil in my gloved hand as tightly as I could, and began to write.

  ‘Now!’ said Daisy. ‘We have had plenty of updates on the case. What do we know?’

  ‘We’ve ruled out one of our suspects,’ I said at once. ‘Moss. He was locked in his rooms by Chummy just after 12:30, and stayed there until Donald let him out, after Chummy fell. He couldn’t have put up the fishing line.’

  ‘Very true,’ said Daisy. ‘It is a pity, though. He seemed like such a lovely suspect at first.’

  ‘He thinks Donald did it,’ I said. ‘George and I both agree.’

  ‘Interesting!’ said George.

  ‘What is?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘Seeing how another society detects. Alex did tell me, but it’s different in person.’

  ‘Oh? And how do you do it?’ asked Daisy, rather spikily. She hates being told that the Detective Society is anything less than perfect.

  ‘We go through clues first!’ said Alexander. ‘George’s idea.’

  ‘So?’ said Daisy, still dangerous.

  ‘Well, there was the stick – branch – whatever it was. And the nail, and the fishing line, and those essays of Amanda’s. And Amanda’s c
oat, if you’re counting that?’

  ‘Things are all very well,’ said Daisy severely, ‘but they don’t make any sense without people.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Can’t we compromise?’ I asked. ‘We could go chronologically, as we discovered the evidence.’

  George and Daisy looked at each other, and then they both nodded.

  ‘Bertie’s out,’ said George. ‘We can give him an alibi from 12:15 until 2:15.’

  ‘When Chummy had already fallen,’ said Daisy, nodding again. ‘Now, Chummy and Donald had an argument about that jacket at half past twelve. Michael came up to tell them off, went back down to his rooms again, Chummy locked Moss in his rooms at the top of the stairs when he came out, and then went out of the window of his sitting room, up the drainpipe and onto the Maudlin roofs at about quarter to one. That’s when he was heard by Perkins as he fell asleep. Chummy was still wearing his outside clothes when he died, so he must have only just returned when he fell. That gives the murderer a window of – let’s say 12:40 to 2:00 – to set the trap. All those timings are agreed on, aren’t they?’

  We all nodded.

  ‘Hazel and I were talking about how the trap was set while you two were in the garden,’ said George.

  Daisy shot me a rather shocked glance.

  ‘We’re telling you now!’ I protested. ‘It’s not really a clue, it’s something we both noticed. Every time we’ve gone up and down the stairs – when we were decorating the stairs earlier, for example – someone has come out to see what we’re doing. Everything echoes. I don’t think you can get up the staircase without someone hearing you. It would be very difficult for anyone at the bottom of the stairs to get all the way to the top without being noticed.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said George, nodding. ‘We should test it in stockinged feet, just to make sure, but it does seem impossible. And another thing: we know that Moss is suspicious of Donald, which tells us that he can have heard no footsteps coming up the stairs. Otherwise he’d have just as much reason to suspect one of the others, whose rooms are further down the staircase. Now, Alfred would have only had to come up one flight, but Michael would have had to climb three, his steps echoing all the way. You’ve heard how sounds carry upwards! Alfred didn’t mention footsteps past his door either, which could mean one of two things. First, that he’s guilty, or second, that Michael didn’t come past his door.’