8 Top Marks for Murder

by Robin Stevens

  Mr Thompson-Bates swung about and punched Mr Temple square in the face.

  All in all, it was quite the most exciting exhibition match I had ever seen.

  11

  ‘So we know Mrs North’s alive!’ said Daisy, when the two of us were back in our dorm after the match. ‘Stuck at home looking after Betsy’s little brother. An absolute washout on Mr North – did you hear Betsy mention that she talked to her mother on the telephone this morning? So she’s very much accounted for! I think, therefore, that we are down to two suspects: Mr Stone and Mr Turnbull. And that, Hazel, is why even though Deepdean has not seen fit to invite us, we must get down to school this evening and spy on the gala dinner. We have absolutely NO choice in the matter!’

  ‘I think we do have a choice,’ I said, although I could not help smiling.

  ‘Hush, Hazel,’ said Daisy, her eyes sparkling. ‘Now, the dinner will take place only in the main body of the Hall. The upper balconies will be quite empty, you know. Imagine if someone was to hide up there and watch events!’

  ‘I think it ought to be two people,’ I said, ‘just in case.’ Despite myself, I was beginning to enjoy this case thoroughly.

  ‘Yes, Watson!’ cried Daisy. ‘Excellent, most excellent. Now all we have to do is wait for this evening, so we can escape!’

  At seven p.m. we all clustered together in the hallway to watch the Big Girls and prefects go down to the gala dinner. They were all dressed like grown-ups, in bright silks and soft chiffons, their hair up.

  All the Big Girls were allowed to invite a guest (fiancés were acceptable, brothers far better, and boyfriends were not allowed), and Kitty was thrilled because Emmeline Moss was bringing her brother, who was a dish.

  ‘He’s so handsome!’ she sighed. ‘Oh, if I didn’t have Hugo … Daisy, why are you wriggling?’

  Daisy, of course, was fizzing to be on the spot, at the dinner, in the room with our suspects. The last Big Girls had barely stepped through the front door before she whirled round to us and cried, ‘Come on, let’s go up to the dorm!’

  I saw Amina’s head turn to look at us. ‘What’s the hurry?’ she asked. ‘Are you planning something? Is it a prank?’

  ‘No!’ snapped Daisy. ‘We are much too grown up for pranks, unlike you.’

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ said Clementine, coming to put her arms about Amina’s shoulders, ‘because our prank last night was brilliant.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Daisy loftily. ‘Come on, Dorm. We have important things to discuss!’

  When we arrived back at the dorm Daisy pushed the door shut and leaned against it.

  ‘Detective Society! As I told the idiots downstairs, we have important things to say. Hazel and I have been discussing the matter, and we have decided that now we are down to two suspects, we must get down to school to watch the gala dinner. We need to see how Mr Stone and Mr Turnbull behave – and whether Mrs Turnbull appears, as she has apparently promised she will!’

  Kitty, Beanie and Lavinia all began to complain, of course.

  ‘Silence!’ hissed Daisy. ‘We can’t all go, that would be foolish. We stand a much greater chance of being caught if we’re all together – and, more importantly, we need several people to remain up here as cover.’

  ‘But—’ Kitty began.

  ‘NO arguments, Detective Freebody! I am still the President of the Detective Society – my word is law!’

  ‘It does make sense,’ I said to the others. ‘Really. We can’t all go, and we have to make sure we’re not caught.’

  ‘Ugh!’ said Lavinia. ‘Can’t one of us three go, at least?’

  ‘I suppose one more person could,’ I said, ‘couldn’t they, Daisy?’

  ‘No!’ said Daisy. ‘Well … oh bother – but not you, Lavinia; you don’t creep well at all. And not Kitty, either. Beanie, you can come. No arguments!’

  Beanie beamed, looking happier than she had all day, and I was glad Daisy had chosen her.

  ‘Now that’s decided, we have to get out of House,’ said Daisy, pacing about the dorm like a caged tiger. ‘That’s easy enough – or at least it ought to be. Everyone, help me get the sheets off the beds. Quickly!’

  As Daisy tugged at one of the knotted sheets – a knot that Aunt Lucy had taught us a few months before – I pushed the dorm window open wide and stared out into the evening. It was still light – by my wristwatch it was ten past seven – and I could see each tree of Oakeshott Woods. We would have to creep very carefully indeed so as not to be caught. My eyes were drawn to the empty ridge where Beanie had seen … whatever it was she had seen, and I shivered despite the warmth of the evening.

  ‘We shall now tie one end of the sheets around my bed,’ Daisy ordered. ‘Kitty, sit on it, and Lavinia will hold the rope. Is everyone ready?’

  ‘Why am I sitting on the bed?’ Kitty protested.

  ‘Because you have no upper body strength, Detective Freebody. Mind you, neither has Hazel – and I have told her a thousand times that she needs to work on her fitness if she wants to be a good detective. Now, on the count of three, we shall begin. Ready? One – two – THREE!’

  12

  Creeping down to school and all the way into the Hall that evening – this evening: I have nearly caught up now – gave me a distinctly prickly, terrified feeling. Old Wing entrance was open when we arrived, and it was easy for us to slip in, but the still-lit lamps and the carpets indented with the marks of high heels and men’s dress shoes made me jumpy. Of course, Daisy and I have been at school after hours illegally before, but never when we knew so many other people were there. It did not help that Beanie trembled with nerves every time we heard even the slightest sound.

  Up the little spiral staircase that led onto the balcony we went at last – and there we were, staring down at the Hall, which was filled with chattering grown-ups and Big Girls, and glowing with candles.

  ‘Ooh!’ gasped Beanie, poking her head over the edge of the balcony. ‘They’ve got the nice napkins out!’

  ‘Down!’ whispered Daisy, batting at her. ‘We mustn’t be obvious!’

  We crouched down, our noses against the wooden fretwork of the balcony, and peeked through to watch what we could.

  It did not take me long to catch sight of the first of our suspects. Mr Stone’s red hair shone in the candlelight as he took his place at the fourth table from the stage. Daisy nudged me quite painfully, and I saw that Mr Turnbull was on the same table. As well as Mr Stone and Mr Turnbull, Amina’s parents, Mr and Mrs El Maghrabi, were there, and Lallie’s parents, Mr and Mrs Thompson-Bates, along with the first former Emily Dow’s parents, who we had seen walking through Deepdean Park that morning.

  ‘At least Lavinia’s father’s not on the same table as Mr Thompson-Bates!’ said Daisy to me, grinning. ‘But where’s the Inspector, though? He said he’d be here. Well, it’s a good thing we decided to see for ourselves!’

  ‘He’s over there,’ I whispered, after some craning about and looking. ‘See – on that table on the Gym side.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s no good!’ said Daisy. ‘He’s with Mr Martineau and the unimportant parents, almost as far away from the stage as the Big Girls! He’ll never be able to watch our suspects! Really, as I said – it’s lucky that we’re here!’

  ‘Thank you for bringing me,’ whispered Beanie, eyes glittering. I noticed that she was pointedly looking away from where her father was sitting next to an empty space, and my heart hurt for her all over again.

  There was a moment’s lull in the chattering. I tensed, in case someone had caught sight of us – but the pause had been caused by ten solemn, well-dressed people, eight men and two women, processing into the Hall.

  ‘The Council!’ whispered Daisy in my ear.

  Mrs Rivers, wearing a strict royal-blue high-necked dress and looking both fierce and fiercely glamorous, moved forward and took a seat at the head of Mr Stone and Mr Turnbull’s table. The others sat too, one Council member at the head of each table, and
now I could see that there was one empty place on Table Four, between Mr Thompson-Bates’s blond head and Mr Dow’s broad shoulders.

  ‘Mrs Turnbull isn’t there!’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes indeed!’ said Daisy. ‘She’s still missing, Hazel! She’s not here! Oh, he lied to everyone this morning. I knew it! I knew he was suspicious!’

  I tried not to let Daisy’s excitement colour my thinking. We did not know, yet, that Mrs Turnbull was our missing woman. We could not be sure – but, all the same, I now thought that she must be.

  Mrs Rivers was at Table Four’s head, with Mr Turnbull opposite her at the other end. On Mrs Rivers’ left-hand side was Mr El Maghrabi, then nervous-looking Mrs Dow, foxy Mr Stone and smiling Mrs El Maghrabi. On the other side of Mrs Rivers was Mr Thompson-Bates, then a space for Mrs Turnbull, then Mr Dow, his thick neck wrapped in a Weston Old Boys’ tie, and finally dark, beautiful Mrs Thompson-Bates next to Mr Turnbull.

  I watched as Mrs Rivers leaned forward across the table and said something to Mr Turnbull at the other end. She gestured to the empty place where his wife should have been, which made him slump in his seat and blush angrily. Mr Stone replied with something that looked as though it was supposed to be a joke, but Mrs Rivers sat up very straight, tossed her head and turned quite deliberately away from him to speak to Mr Thompson-Bates. Mr Stone scowled, his handsome face twisting, and leaned across Mrs El Maghrabi to mutter to Mr Turnbull.

  I was desperate to know what they were saying, and I could tell that Daisy was too. She watched the table, open-mouthed. A curl of gold hair had escaped from her schoolgirl plait and was tickling her nose, but she did not notice it in the slightest.

  I made a careful sketch of Table Four and its occupants (I have tucked it into the beginning of this account, if you want to see it for yourself) and tried to follow what was happening, as the Deepdean maids began to circulate with the wine.

  ‘They’re doing it wrong!’ whispered Daisy. ‘Oh, Chapman and Hetty would have a fit! Look at Nancy and Beryl’s form – dreadful.’

  ‘Mmm …’ I said vaguely, for I still do not understand the niceties of waiting at British dinner tables. All my eyes could see was a gentle black-and-white dance, as figures darted backwards and forwards and glasses glinted amber in the candlelight.

  The first course was brought out – an aspic, on plates emblazoned with Deepdean’s crest. I saw Mrs Dow turn to Nancy, serving the plates, and shake her head, motioning her aspic away tearfully.

  Mr Dow leaned forward across the table and said something that made Mr Stone and Mr Thompson-Bates laugh, and Mrs Dow looked stricken.

  ‘Poor Mrs Dow!’ Beanie whispered. ‘She looks so unhappy to be here! And everyone’s being so horrid to her … oh, look! Mrs Rivers is going to tell them to stop!’

  But although Mrs Rivers was speaking, every face at Table Four turned towards her, what she was saying was clearly not designed to soothe Mrs Dow. Mr Stone laughed again, and Mrs Dow put her hands up to her face. Then she simply stood up and went rushing out of the Hall. She brushed past Mrs Rivers quite violently and almost knocked into Beryl, serving the wine. Beryl hovered, looking awkward, and then at last decided to move on, leaving Mrs Dow’s glass empty.

  ‘I don’t think Mrs Rivers is a very nice person!’ said Beanie. ‘Or Mr Dow!’

  Nancy, meanwhile, was having more bad luck with her plates. Mrs El Maghrabi waved her aspic away as well, as did her husband.

  ‘Vegetarian, do you think?’ asked Daisy – but, for once, I knew an answer she did not.

  ‘They’re Muslims!’ I said. ‘It must be a pork aspic – you’re not allowed to eat pork if you’re Muslim.’

  I looked back at Table Four. Mrs Rivers was now talking to Mr El Maghrabi – and it seemed that all was not well there, either. Mr El Maghrabi’s face was grim, and he snapped something at her. Mrs Rivers’ head jerked back, and she replied, waving her hands furiously. Whatever they were discussing must be quite unpleasant.

  Further down the table, Mr Stone was staring fixedly at Mrs Rivers, as though there was something burned onto her forehead that only he could see. At last he got up and went over to her, bending down to whisper in her ear. Mrs Rivers turned on him with an angry expression, pointing back at his seat.

  ‘She’s telling him to go away,’ said Daisy. ‘Oh, what on earth is happening?’

  ‘They all hate each other!’ said Beanie. ‘Is this – is this what you thought you’d see?’

  I was fascinated.

  Mrs Turnbull and Mrs Dow’s empty seats, Mr and Mrs El Maghrabi’s empty plates, and Mrs Rivers’ banishment of Mr Stone seemed to have frozen Table Four into silence. No one spoke except to ask for the salt and pepper.

  At last the first course was cleared. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was after eight. The main course was served rather hesitantly by Nancy – roast pork on plates, accompanied by platters of roast potatoes and vegetables. Again, Mr and Mrs El Maghrabi waved their plates away, Mr El Maghrabi now quite angrily.

  Mr Turnbull began to speak to Mrs El Maghrabi, while Mr Dow tried to get the attention of Mrs Thompson-Bates, sitting next to him – but she was playing distractedly with her clutch bag in her lap and hardly noticed him. I thought Mrs Rivers and Mr Thompson-Bates had moved onto the safe topic of tennis (or so it seemed, from Mr Thompson-Bates’s wild and enthusiastic arm gestures), while Mr El Maghrabi was trying his best to get the attention of Mr Stone, who was still staring at Mrs Rivers.

  And then – and then – Mrs Rivers coughed. She held her napkin daintily in front of her mouth to hide it, but she coughed again, and again: big, racking chokes that had Mr El Maghrabi and Mr Thompson-Bates turning to her in concern. At last Mrs Rivers doubled over, her hands on her stomach, and gasped out something that I was quite sure was ‘Help!’

  The table wobbled as she knocked into it – and we all looked on, aghast.

  ‘What’s happening?’ gasped Beanie.

  ‘It can’t be!’ Daisy breathed. ‘Hazel, it can’t be – surely it can’t?’

  I could barely believe my eyes. But as Mrs Rivers continued to choke and gasp, bent over in agony, I was quite certain I knew what I was seeing. I had seen it before, once, at Daisy’s house, Fallingford. It is a horrid memory, one I try not to think of very much – but here it was again, brought to life.

  Mrs Rivers looked for all the world like someone who had been poisoned with arsenic.

  Mr El Maghrabi leaped up and bent over Mrs Rivers, and Mr Thompson-Bates got up too, pushing him aside. Mr Stone shoved his chair back and ran to her, his foxy face grey and horrified.

  Mrs Thompson-Bates fell back in a faint and Mr Turnbull caught her, looking stricken. Mrs Rivers, meanwhile, was gasping and foaming at the mouth.

  ‘Get a doctor!’ screamed Mrs El Maghrabi, seeming to have the greatest presence of mind of anyone. ‘Quick! Help! A doctor, please!’

  The Inspector pushed his way through the crowd, and so did Miss Barnard. She knelt beside her sister, dabbing at her forehead and whispering desperately in her ear. Nancy dropped the tray she was carrying with a great clatter and dashed out of the Hall, to return five minutes later with a panting Mrs Minn, our school nurse. Mrs Minn bent over Mrs Rivers, who was by now fitting horribly.

  ‘Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!’ Beanie was whispering in my ear, tears in her eyes.

  I felt dizzy with shock. How could this be?

  ‘She’s been poisoned!’ cried Mrs Minn. ‘We must get her to San. Someone help me lift her. Hurry!’

  Mrs Rivers was carried out of the Hall, Miss Barnard running after her in a panic, leaving all the other guests in horrified confusion.

  I looked at my watch again – it was 8:42 p.m.

  And that was the moment that death truly came to Deepdean, and the reason why I am writing all this up.

  1

  I hardly remember Daisy’s and my escape from the Hall balcony, just a blur of dark and then light, a rush of running up Oakeshott Hill, hearing rustling in the tre
es, feet stumbling on the grass by House, and Lavinia and Kitty’s white faces at the window as we climbed up into the dorm again to collapse on the floor, gasping.

  ‘Where’s Beanie?’ cried Kitty. ‘What happened?’

  I sat up, and Daisy leaped upright and stood in the middle of the dorm room, trembling with excitement like a dog who has smelled a fox.

  ‘Someone’s been poisoned!’ she cried. ‘We saw it, we were there! Someone’s poisoned Mrs Rivers! Beanie’s staying to watch the other people in the Hall – otherwise we have no way of knowing if they show symptoms of poisoning as well.’

  ‘Mrs Rivers was poisoned?’ said Kitty blankly. ‘And why would you leave Beanie—’

  ‘I know, I know, but we didn’t have time,’ said Daisy, pacing in circles. ‘Someone had to watch. Now, the Big Girls will be—’

  The front door to House slammed open, and the hallway was suddenly filled with shrieking noise. We could hear it all the way up the stairs and along the corridors and through the closed door to our dorm.

  ‘Kitty, you go running downstairs looking frightened and make the Big Girls tell you what’s happened. And watch them for any signs of poisoning! Go! We need as much information as possible. We’ll wait here.’

  I couldn’t think why she did not volunteer to go herself. She looked as though she was ready to run a mile.

  ‘Hazel, Lavinia, get out the things for a midnight feast. We shall be needing it – this is going to be a very long night, and we need to begin with a Detective Society meeting at once.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Kitty.

  ‘I am going to plan our next steps,’ said Daisy. ‘I must admit that not even I was prepared for this. The case has absolutely turned on its head. The only thing we do know is this: Mrs Rivers has just been poisoned in our own school – and the poisoner shall not be allowed to get away with it!’