8 Top Marks for Murder

by Robin Stevens

  There was a knock at the cloakroom door.

  ‘Fourth formers!’ called Miss Lappet. ‘Come out of there! You are needed to escort the parents to the Hall. Temple, your father and mother and – well – are here, and Martineau’s poor father looks utterly at sea. You mustn’t be rude!’

  Beanie looked frozen.

  ‘We mustn’t be rude!’ said Kitty in a very good imitation of Miss Lappet’s voice once she had left. ‘Come on, Beans. I’m sure your mum is quite all right. Come on, let’s go and talk to your dad and you can make certain. You’ll only be frightened until you know.’

  Beanie sniffed miserably. Kitty handed her a handkerchief and squeezed her arm.

  ‘Buck up,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, do focus, Detective Martineau,’ said Daisy. ‘There is a mystery to solve and we must all be rigorous. I have identified Mr Murgatroyd as a suspect. What about the rest of you?’

  ‘Mr North,’ said Lavinia. ‘And my father.’

  ‘I think we ought to add Mr Stone to the list,’ I said. ‘I know he was supposed to be here alone – Mrs Stone died a few years ago – but I heard him tell Jennifer that he’d been to Paris recently! That might be important.’ I had been preparing to suggest Clementine’s father as well, but I had not seen him at all.

  Daisy stared at me, and then she shrugged and said, ‘All right. So far, so good. Four suspects, and we’ve ruled out plenty of parents too. We must keep watching. Come on! Once more into the breach, dear Detectives.’

  Out we went into the entrance hall again. Beanie’s father was standing where we had left him, looking very lost indeed. Next to him was a large, black-bearded man who looked very fierce. He folded his arms and scowled, ignoring Mr Martineau – and I knew who he must be.

  ‘Lavinia!’ gasped Kitty at exactly that moment. ‘Your father looks exactly like you!’

  ‘He does not!’ snarled Lavinia, folding her arms and scowling too, and we all burst out laughing. Even Beanie smiled wanly. Suddenly I felt more cheerful.

  ‘Father, you’re late,’ shouted Lavinia at her father. ‘Where are … YOU know?’

  ‘Lavinia, you’re making me late!’ roared Mr Temple. ‘Patricia’s gone inside, and so has your mother. If we don’t hurry, there’ll be war. Come on, idiot girl!’

  Off they went towards Library corridor, arguing furiously. Kitty sidled up to Mr Martineau, Beanie in tow, and bore them both away very carefully.

  Old Wing entrance was quite deserted at this point, and Daisy and I really were about to be late.

  But then someone slipped through the doorway and stood staring around, as though he was lost. I got a sort of half-look at him at first, and then I spun round in shock.

  I ought to have expected it, but somehow I had not.

  It was Inspector Priestley.

  10

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Daisy, looking just as surprised and delighted as I felt.

  ‘You summoned me,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘I drove down in my car this afternoon. Would you have preferred I flew?’

  We were still gaping at him, so he added, ‘I had some leave to take from my station. There hasn’t been much time for holidaying this year. Before I motored down, I also had a word with the Deepdean police. I let them know I’d had a tip-off that there may have been illegal activity in Oakeshott Woods this morning.

  ‘Really?’ I gasped. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, against all probability, when you’ve told me that something terrible has happened, it always has. You have been right again and again, and I would be no sort of policeman at all if I did not believe in your detective powers by now.’

  I felt like a hot-air balloon rising into the sky.

  ‘Yes, but how are you going to explain why you’re at our concert?’ asked Daisy, and I came back down to earth with a bump.

  ‘After you told me it was the Anniversary, I took the precaution of telephoning your headmistress’s office,’ said the Inspector. ‘I told the woman I spoke to that I would be representing Miss Wells in place of her uncle. I also telephoned him, before you ask, mentioning that I would be in the area, and he gave his consent to my taking his place at the festivities, as a … sort of family friend, let’s say. I thought it prudent to stay near you while this is cleared up. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ I said thankfully.

  ‘Excellent,’ said the Inspector. ‘Now, quick, tell me all about the case.’

  We rushed into the Hall for the concert just as it was about to begin, having briefed the Inspector as fast as we could about what Beanie had seen, and what we had found in the woods – and I could not have felt more obvious. Heads turned and tuts rippled away from us like pebbles into water. I saw Lavinia sitting between Mr Temple and blonde-haired Patricia on one side, and a woman with Lavinia’s heavy eyebrows and dark eyes on the other. So Lavinia was wrong – Mr Temple could be ruled out. I saw that Clementine was sitting alone too – her father was still not there. We therefore had only three concrete suspects so far: Mr Murgatroyd, Mr North and Mr Stone.

  I dipped my head, noticing that the Inspector’s mac was crumpled and frayed at the cuffs and his hat was out of fashion – and, of course, he was a policeman, something frightening and not at all nice. Even Daisy’s gold hair and polished, carefully bored expression could not save us from being looked at.

  Miss Barnard moved forward onto the stage. We ducked down into the first three seats we could find as she began to speak.

  ‘This is a great occasion,’ she said in her calm, quiet voice that nevertheless carried through the Hall. ‘Deepdean School for Girls is fifty years old. Fifty! When the Founder opened Deepdean’s doors in 1886, she was told that such a school was not necessary, that no one needed or wanted to educate their daughters. But now, in 1936, we have more than proved those people wrong. We live in a brave new world where women may vote. They may sit in a court of law and the Houses of Parliament. Why, one day I believe we shall even see a female Prime Minister. What a wonderful example she shall be for her sex! This weekend we celebrate our current girls, as well as welcoming home many past pupils, women who have gone out into the world and done commendable things. Many of them now have daughters or granddaughters here, and some – like myself – have returned to inspire more young minds through the wonder of teaching. Tonight we begin our Anniversary celebrations by showing you the brightest of our musicians, girls whose talents will cheer and delight. Please listen carefully and applaud them as they deserve. They are a credit to our school, and I am proud to introduce them to you all.’

  ‘Dull!’ Daisy muttered in my ear. ‘Deadly dull! Oh, what a bother this weekend will be – so many tiresome events to get through when all we want to do is go out and hunt for the body.’

  ‘Don’t be gruesome, Madam Super,’ whispered Inspector Priestley from her other side.

  Daisy narrowed her eyes at me, and I had to fight not to laugh.

  The concert began. The choir sang (Beanie looking sick with misery), a third former played the flute, Sophie Croke-Finchley played the piano (her father cheered in the wrong place and had to be subdued by his wife), and then, as four staid fifth formers were playing a string quartet, a sharp, high-pitched noise rang out from all over the Hall.

  An alarm clock was trilling to my left, and another behind me. It took me – and everyone else, from the startled glances I saw – a moment to realize what we were hearing, and in that time three more went off, one up in the balcony, one just below the stage and one two rows in front of where we were sitting.

  ‘TURN OFF THAT NOISE!’ bellowed Miss Lappet.

  Everyone looked about them, to see who was looking guilty. ‘I’ll bet it’s Binny and her rat friends!’ hissed Kitty, but I was staring at the row in front of me, where Amina was sitting with her parents. Her shoulders were shaking with mirth – and when she looked over at Clementine I knew who was behind the prank. Next to her, Mr El Maghrabi was elbowing his daughter and Mrs El Maghrabi turned on Amina crossly, he
r smile gone.

  Miss Lappet, and Mamzelle, and Miss Dodgson, had to scuttle about, turning clocks off and becoming more and more flustered, while we all tried not to giggle – and then, at last, the final clocks stopped with a shrill thump, and there was no sound in the Hall. It was as though we had imagined the interruption. But, of course, we had not. Miss Barnard’s lips were pinched together, Miss Lappet was beetroot-red, and Rev MacLean was coughing into his dirty old handkerchief in a way that I suspected was really a snigger.

  Miss Barnard came striding back on stage, clearing her throat.

  ‘Many apologies for that interruption, ladies and gentlemen,’ she said. ‘If the girls behind it would come and see me at the end of the concert, I have a few words to say to them. And many apologies to the string quartet. An excellent performance – it was a pity that it was cut short. Now, before we begin the next section, I wanted to bring on a very special guest. She was a music scholar during her time at Deepdean, and now, of course, she is one of Europe’s shining lights – as well as being the mother of our current third-form pupil, Ella. May I welcome … Mrs Artemis Turnbull!’

  Applause clattered around the Hall, but when it died away, Miss Barnard was still alone on the stage.

  ‘Mrs Turnbull!’ she called. ‘Mrs Turnbull? Has anyone seen Mrs Turnbull?’

  1

  ‘Artemis Turnbull is missing!’ said Daisy to the rest of us as we walked back up to House together after the concert had ended – or, rather, after it had been brought to a hasty conclusion. Mrs Turnbull’s unexpected absence had finally ruined the celebratory mood. Mr Turnbull was stony-faced, refusing to answer Ella Turnbull’s tearful questions or speak to the mothers and fathers who were all crowded around him, looking for answers.

  Miss Barnard, though, seemed more concerned about the prank. As we filed out, I saw her in a huddle with Mrs Rivers and the El Maghrabis – Amina, arm in arm with Clementine, must have owned up to it. Mr and Mrs El Maghrabi both looked furious, Mrs Rivers’ face was stony, and Miss Barnard was as cross as I had ever seen her.

  ‘I only wanted to have a bit of fun,’ I heard Amina say, as we passed her. ‘It wasn’t serious! Everyone does this sort of thing in England. See here, I’ll apologize!’

  ‘This is not how we behave at Deepdean,’ snapped Mrs Rivers. ‘Really, I expected better from you!’

  Is Amina really in trouble? I wondered. I saw from a slight quirk in Daisy’s lips that she had the same idea, and it pleased her – but I remembered a long-ago Games lesson and a mistress saying something similar to me, and I could not feel glad about it.

  Daisy and I paused at Old Wing entrance to say goodbye to the Inspector.

  ‘You saw!’ Daisy hissed at him urgently. ‘Mrs Turnbull is missing! And remember, we told you that Mrs Murgatroyd and Mrs North are too. We have identified four suspects: Mr Turnbull, Mr Murgatroyd, Mr North and Mr Stone. Get those clodhopping policemen to search the woods for the body immediately!’

  ‘I am surprised you trust me to organize them, Madam Super,’ said the Inspector, his mouth twitching upwards.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Daisy. ‘But I trust everyone else less. Anyway, we can’t do it. We have to be back at House for our bedtime soon. Ugh, what a hideous word! Really, when I remember our lives in London … we are far too grown up for bedtime!’

  ‘You really will make them look?’ I asked. ‘You promise?’

  My heart was pounding. I was not sure Daisy was sounding entirely credible.

  ‘I promise,’ said the Inspector, and he caught my eye and smiled at me. I felt suddenly calmer. Something had happened in the woods, and he would find out what it was. ‘And I promise to let you know the results of the expedition tomorrow morning, during your … what is the word …?’

  ‘Our exeat morning,’ said Daisy. ‘Tomorrow you may accompany us into town from the hours of ten until two, but we have to be back in time for the beginning of the exhibition matches.’

  ‘My grammar school did not prepare me for any of this,’ said the Inspector, with a slightly haunted look in his eyes. ‘I will see you tomorrow at ten a.m. precisely, Madam Super, Miss Wong. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the police station to organize a search for a body.’

  We joined Kitty, Lavinia and Beanie, who had hung back to wait for us. I could feel Daisy fizzing next to me, hating the idea that with every step we took towards House we moved away from the official investigation.

  Swallows were swooping parabolas above our heads in the last of the day, and a bat skittered around the trees like a scratch at the edge of my vision. ‘Why didn’t we know Mrs Turnbull was missing?’ Daisy burst out. ‘Kitty! She was one of yours!’

  Kitty shrugged her shoulders. ‘Mr Turnbull kept telling people she was on her way!’ she said defensively. ‘He was red in the face about it. I was watching to see whether it was true, but then Beanie’s dad arrived, and … I was distracted. I forgot to tell you. Anyway, he might have been telling the truth!’

  ‘Detective Freebody, you can’t believe people!’ said Daisy. ‘How many times … Well, never mind that now. Inspector Priestley is organizing the police to hunt for the body while the light lasts this evening. If all goes to plan, we may know by tomorrow morning who the woman in the woods is, and, by extension, the man who strangled her. The case may be over!’

  Kitty, Beanie and Lavinia looked cheerful – but I detected a catch in Daisy’s voice. If the case was over, we would go back to being ordinary. If the case was over, Daisy would lose her special purpose – she would become nothing more than the girl who could not even get onto a school team without help.

  And I truly did not know what I hoped for from the search.

  SUSPECT LIST

  Mr Turnbull. His wife Artemis (an opera singer with an international reputation) was supposed to perform at the concert on Friday night, but she did not attend!

  Mr Stone. According to Uncle Felix, he is a smuggler! He has also recently been to Paris.

  Mr Murgatroyd. His wife is allegedly in India, but is this true?

  Mr North. We know he telephoned on Friday morning to tell Miss Lappet that his wife would not be attending the Anniversary weekend – very suspicious!

  2

  That evening, Oakeshott Woods were shot through with torchlight and shouting, and Daisy and I crouched by the window after lights out, in the last of the day, and watched. Although we could not be part of the hunt, it turned out that we could spy on it – just a little – from our dorm window.

  I felt as though I had lit the touchpaper of one of Miss Runcible’s fireworks and seen the whole sky explode above me. And, once again, I felt strangely torn about this search. Would our eighth murder mystery be over before it had even properly begun? And what would that do to Daisy?

  I turned to look at her and saw her leaning against the dorm window, her chin on her arm and her gaze fixed on the faraway ridge. She barely blinked. The curtains billowed around her, and her nightie billowed a little too, so she looked like part of the fabric of the dorm.

  I was worried that she would decide to slip down the drainpipe and do something stupid, so I forced myself to stay up with her. But I must have slept at some point, for my worries chased me into my dreams. In them, Daisy took wings and flew like an avenging angel to scoop up the culprit – who sometimes looked like Mr Murgatroyd, sometimes like Mr Turnbull, sometimes like Mr North and sometimes like Mr Stone – and carry him off to prison.

  I woke up with a snap on Saturday morning, before the wake-up bell, when everything was quiet and clean. I flung myself upright – I had slipped down into an uncomfortable heap on the floor – and found Daisy exactly where I had last seen her, beside the window. Her eyes were open, still gazing out on the woods, but she jumped when I got up and put my hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Who goes there!’ she hissed. ‘Oh, Watson, it’s you.’

  ‘Did they find the body?’ I asked, my voice a little blurry.

  ‘They’ve stopped hunting
,’ said Daisy. ‘Hours ago, so they must have. It’s over, Hazel.’

  She sounded wan, and I knew it was not just from lack of sleep. I stood next to her and we leaned together, ear to ear.

  ‘I wonder who she was?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ said Daisy. ‘But – oh, how annoying that we weren’t there! Now the police have taken over, I know the Inspector will just hand the rest of the case to them. He might be a fairly competent policeman, but he’s still a policeman, and they are all clodhoppers in their souls.’

  ‘He might let us keep on helping,’ I said, trying to cheer her up, even though I did not think that was likely. ‘He listened to us, didn’t he? And – and there are lots of places we can go that the police can’t. Haven’t we seen that, in all our cases? We’re different from them, and that’s good!’

  ‘Humph,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself!’ I said. ‘We did something important, Daisy, we really did. The body is someone’s mother, remember? She needed to be found. We did the right thing, you know.’

  But I felt rather deflated too.

  It is funny now to remember that feeling I had when I thought the case was over – before …

  Well.

  Because when we clattered down to breakfast, after we had washed and dressed and done our hair, I found a note in my pigeonhole.

  ‘It’s from the Inspector!’ I said, unfolding it. ‘And – oh, Daisy!’

  I held it out to her, so she could read it.

  No joy from the woods. No body. Do we need to think again? I will be with you at ten this morning.

  I felt sick. All my secret worries bubbled up again. Beanie had been wrong. Daisy had believed what she wanted to. We were silly schoolgirls, after all.