8 Top Marks for Murder

by Robin Stevens

  She rushed away, and Mamzelle shrugged and took a sip of her drink.

  Mr El Maghrabi looked at his wife. ‘Nour!’ he said. ‘Amina’s up to something again.’

  ‘After we told her!’ said Mrs El Maghrabi. ‘That naughty girl! England has changed her.’

  They exchanged cross looks, and then Mr El Maghrabi said, ‘Excuse us, Tom.’ They both turned away from Mr Stone to follow Miss Dodgson into Big Girls’ Wing.

  ‘Oh, bother!’ said Daisy, backing away. ‘But I think we heard some interesting things. Mr Stone and the El Maghrabis appear to know each other. I wonder if Mr Stone was the man who went to Egypt to make his fortune and win Mrs Rivers’ hand, and that’s how they met? Goodness, there’s Lavinia, lurking by that herbaceous border. Lavinia! Lavinia!’

  8

  ‘Go away!’ hissed Lavinia. ‘I’m hiding! Patricia keeps looking for me so that she can pretend to be nice to me. I want to punch her.’

  ‘Mightn’t she really be nice?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s a snake. She’s marrying my father for his money, that’s all. Honestly, it’s money that makes people so unhappy. Wealth ought to be redistributed so that everyone has the same amount.’

  ‘Don’t let any of the mistresses hear you say that! You sound like a fearful Red,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Perhaps I am,’ said Lavinia.

  ‘What I would like to know is why you aren’t watching Mr Thompson-Bates,’ said Daisy.

  ‘I tried!’ said Lavinia. ‘Only – Patricia, you know. And there was a tray of sandwiches that no one was looking after. I got you some, if you’d like? But don’t worry about Mr T-B. Look, he’s over there, I haven’t lost him.’

  I looked where she was pointing, and saw that Mr Stone had wandered over the grass to where Mr and Mrs Thompson-Bates were standing together, looking glamorous as always, he in a well-cut suit, and she with a dash of plum lipstick to match her silk dress. Mr Stone held out one of his full glasses of fizz to Mr Thompson-Bates, and Mr Thompson-Bates took it. Mr and Mrs Dow hovered behind them, her gloved hand pressed in his. They were staring at Mr and Mrs Thompson-Bates – Mrs Dow with a lost, frightened look, and Mr Dow with his brows together, resolute.

  ‘Now, there’s Kitty!’ hissed Daisy. ‘Really, why can’t anyone follow a perfectly simple mission? She hasn’t been staying on Mr Stone at all. KITTY!’

  ‘Something’s up with her,’ I said. ‘Kitty, are you all right?’

  ‘No!’ said Kitty forcefully. Her face was pale and drained, and she did not even look at the napkin full of sandwiches Lavinia held out to her. ‘Mum and Dad just told me and Binny that – that they’re having another baby.’

  I gasped. So that was why Mrs Freebody had been acting oddly, and why we had overheard them arguing.

  ‘Oh, what rotten luck!’ cried Daisy.

  ‘They didn’t want to tell us because they thought we’d be upset,’ said Kitty. ‘And I am! Really, why anyone would want another baby after Binny, I have no idea. And – ugh! They’re old! Mum is thirty-three.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said – for I knew how she was feeling. My father had surprised me in exactly the same way only this spring. ‘It’s not so bad, really, once you get to know them.’

  ‘Hazel is lying,’ whispered Daisy. ‘It’s awful.’

  ‘It’s not! Daisy!’

  ‘I must tell Beanie,’ said Kitty, staring about distractedly. I caught sight of our suspects again – Mrs Thompson-Bates was sneezing, while Mr Thompson-Bates chivalrously held her glass. Mr Dow leaned over to them, but Mr Thompson-Bates waved him away.

  ‘Oh – there she is,’ said Kitty, ‘hidden away by the pond. Beanie! Bean— Wait, look – there’s something wrong!’

  We all looked – and there was Beanie, in tears. And beside her, looking quite as devastated, was her father.

  Kitty marched towards the pond, fists clenched as though she was going into battle to protect her best friend. Daisy, Lavinia and I began to wiggle our way through the crowd, Daisy ducking and diving so expertly that she was soon several people in front of us. Lavinia simply shoved everyone aside, and I moved in her wake, as parents tutted at her and Miss Morris cried, ‘Lavinia Temple, manners if you please!’

  The pond was away from the pavilion and the main crowd, and its chatter faded a little as we approached. Beanie and her father sat on the pond’s stone lip, Mr Martineau’s hand resting on Beanie’s.

  ‘Beanie!’ Kitty cried, reaching her at last. ‘What’s wrong? What is it?’

  Beanie simply sobbed, her face in her hands.

  Kitty turned on Mr Martineau with a boldness that I gasped at. ‘This is your fault!’ she said to him. ‘This is about Mrs Martineau, isn’t it? What have you done with her?’

  It really is simply not done to speak to a grown-up like that. Mr Martineau towered over us all, even Daisy – it was obvious where Beanie had got her new-found height from. I waited for him to put Kitty in her place.

  But he only shook his head gently, and sighed and looked sorry.

  ‘You don’t know, of course,’ said Mr Martineau. ‘I’ve only told Becky myself now. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell her, but – well, I’m not sure there’s ever a right time to tell someone something like this.’ His eyes were suddenly shining with tears. ‘I’m afraid that it’s bad news. The disease – the one her mother had last year – it’s come back.’

  ‘But she’ll get better?’ I asked.

  ‘The doctors don’t know,’ said Mr Martineau slowly. ‘They don’t think she will.’

  ‘Then they aren’t very good doctors!’ cried Kitty. ‘Beans, it’s all right, it really is – we’ll fix this, I promise!’

  A bird called from somewhere on the roof of the school. A fish stirred the surface of the pond.

  Beanie sobbed harder and squeezed her fingers over her eyes.

  ‘I can’t say that, pet,’ said Mr Martineau. ‘I don’t know if anyone can make her better.’

  We all stared at him, flabbergasted. Daisy and I are used to grown-ups lying, but we had never heard a grown-up admitting something like that.

  The bird called again, a low whooping sound. Daisy stiffened.

  ‘What on earth is a male tawny owl doing at Deepdean during the middle of the day?’ she whispered.

  ‘Shush, Daisy!’ I hissed. I was shocked. Did Beanie not matter to her?

  ‘But – but—’ stammered Kitty. ‘Beans, it’ll be all right, I promise!’

  Beanie looked up. ‘You can’t promise that!’ she gasped through her tears. ‘And anyway – I’m being brave!’

  ‘Oh, BEANS,’ said Kitty, and threw her arms round her – and the other three of us put our arms round them, until we were standing in a squashed, sweaty and tear-stained huddle.

  The owl called once more.

  ‘But, really – listen!’ said Daisy, pulling away.

  ‘Daisy!’ I cried furiously – and at that very moment a window banged open, far above our heads, and out fell something large and white, like a spill of paint flooding down the side of Big Girls’ Wing.

  Everyone’s heads jerked upwards to see what was happening. It was not paint at all, I realized, but a bedsheet, one of our regulation ones from House. But on its rather muddy grey-whiteness had been daubed the words:

  Someone laughed. Several other people gasped. Miss Lappet made a wordless bellowing noise. Two heads (one fair, one dark) popped up at the window and then rapidly vanished again, as though they had been pulled away by invisible arms. The bedsheet dropped, and fell to the ground like a dying ghost.

  ‘Miss Lappet,’ said Miss Barnard, mouth so pinched it was entirely bloodless, ‘fetch Amina El Maghrabi at ONCE.’

  9

  What followed was a confused twenty-five minutes – of the mistresses hunting for Amina, of Amina and Clementine being discovered in the grip of Amina’s furious and embarrassed parents, of Miss Barnard more white-hot angry than I had ever seen her before, of Amina and the El Maghrabis being ta
ken to the headmistress’s office for a Serious Discussion and Amina coming back with her head held high and her cheeks pink.

  ‘They didn’t do it,’ she said to everyone crowding round her. ‘They didn’t, and I wanted to say so.’

  I was extremely impressed. It was a bold and dangerous thing to do when she knew how cross the school and her parents would be, and it made me feel warmly towards Amina. After the alarm-clock incident, Amina was on thin ice, and so she must care very deeply about her parents to be willing to put herself in such peril for their sake. And for Clementine to help her – I had to grudgingly admit that she could not be entirely unpleasant after all either. I could see that Daisy was struggling too. That one moment had knocked down many of the things she’d thought about Amina, and being wrong about someone makes her awfully itchy and cross.

  So, like everyone else, we were distracted. The guests all milled about on the lawn awkwardly, until at last they were brought to order.

  A podium had been set up in front of the tea tent, and Miss Barnard stood on it, very slender and delicate-looking with her hair pinned back neatly and her soft blue dress fluttering in the breeze. But her expression, when I focused on it, was sharp and furious – suddenly she looked more like Mrs Rivers than she ever had before.

  ‘Welcome,’ she said – and she did not raise her voice, but somehow the word carried. Everyone had turned towards her, glasses were lowered and half-eaten sandwiches put down.

  ‘This Anniversary should be a joyous weekend. There is much to celebrate, for the achievements of our girls both past and present are many and great. This school has nurtured generations of women, and it will raise up generations more.

  ‘But we are also here to remember. Last night, at the gala dinner, Mrs Rivers – a school Council member, and my own dear sister – passed away.

  ‘It has been suggested to me that we should cancel the rest of the Anniversary weekend, but I know that Mrs Rivers would not want that. We will carry on, as all Deepdean girls do, but we will remember the good works Mrs Rivers did for Deepdean. An old Deepdeanite herself, she worked to mould this school, and its girls, in her image. She did this in memory of the time we spent here, and also of her dear husband, who passed away last year. She will not be forgotten. A minute’s silence, if you please.’

  Miss Barnard bowed her head. She was very calm, as always – but I saw the sheet of paper she was holding tremble, and her lips twist together. I suddenly felt terribly sorry for her. We have solved seven murder mysteries, so it has become almost natural to us to be around death – but somehow it is still odd for me to realize that, even when you are a powerful, sensible, clever grown-up, you cannot stop terrible things happening. You cannot even stop yourself feeling sad about those things when they happen.

  I looked round at Mr Martineau. His huge shoulders were hunched, and his teeth were clenched – I could see his jaw working. I suddenly felt sick with dread. If Mr Martineau was telling us that Beanie’s mother could not be saved, then what could we do?

  On the lawns, the guests drew together, their heads bowed.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Miss Barnard from the podium at last. ‘And now, a toast. To Mrs Rivers, and to fifty years of this wonderful school. To Deepdean girls, old and new. We shall move forward in the light held up for us by the women of the past. To Deepdean!’

  She raised a glass in her hand.

  ‘To Deepdean!’ the crowd murmured, and light flashed all around the garden as glasses were held in the air.

  ‘To Deepdean,’ everyone muttered.

  The grown-ups raised their glasses and drank.

  Then I heard a shattering noise, and Mrs Dow screamed.

  1

  ‘Help!’ screamed Mrs Dow. ‘Oh, help! It’s happening again!’

  I thought that she had been hurt – and had a moment when all I could think about was being able to rule her out as a suspect – but it was Mrs Thompson-Bates who had fallen to the ground. She was writhing horribly. Next to her lay glass, gleaming in the sun.

  ‘She’s been poisoned!’ cried Daisy. ‘Oh, heavens, we’re finally on the spot! Quick, Detectives!’

  She dived forward, and the rest of us followed her.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ boomed Mr Martineau. ‘Becky, pet, don’t move. Don’t look!’

  He tried to catch hold of the back of Beanie’s dress, but she glared back at him and wiggled out of his grip. Together, the five of us skirted the pond and ran to where a crowd was gathering around Mrs Thompson-Bates.

  But we did not get there as quickly as Mrs Minn.

  I did not know that someone so comfortably round could move so fast, but she was suddenly there, in a bright yellow dress that made her look like a sherbet lemon, kneeling over Mrs Thompson-Bates and patting at her cheeks.

  Mr Thompson-Bates’s face was ashen. ‘Cordelia!’ he cried, almost knocking Mrs Minn aside in his panic. ‘You’ll be all right!’

  Mrs Thompson-Bates reached out to her husband, scrabbling at his jacket pitifully. He caught her hands and held them, tears in his eyes.

  ‘It remains to be seen whether she will be all right,’ said Mrs Minn grimly. ‘You – and you – lift her up! She needs charcoal, immediately! It’s her only chance.’

  She had pointed to Mr Martineau, who had rushed after us, and Mr Dow. Mr Dow had been glancing between the sobbing, crumpled Mrs Dow and Mrs Thompson-Bates like a little boy who didn’t know where to turn. But at Mrs Minn’s words he bent to Mrs Thompson-Bates with Mr Martineau, and they lifted her into the air as easily as a doll. Still writhing, she was carried away towards San between them, Mr Thompson-Bates and Mr Stone racing after them.

  ‘Kitty!’ whispered Daisy. ‘You follow them! I don’t care how you do it, but go after them and listen in to everything you can.’

  Kitty, grim-faced, went dashing away after Mrs Thompson-Bates.

  ‘Hazel, observe the scene of the crime! Lavinia, stand guard over her in case of any outside influences. Beanie, follow me. We couldn’t speak to any suspects after the last attack, but we can remedy that now. We need to know everything we can from Mrs Dow. Do you all understand?’

  We nodded. There was not much time, and we had to play our parts. And mine was to document everything I could.

  In front of me was the place where Mrs Thompson-Bates had fallen. I could see the long scratches of her heels in the grass, tufts torn up from her writhing.

  There, next to them, was her smashed champagne glass. It was in shards, quite broken, but a few bright bubbles of fizz still clung to the pieces, with a smear of plum lipstick on the rim. I did not even breathe on it, for I knew the police would want every drop for testing.

  Four more unbroken glasses lay on the ground near it. I thought carefully back to what I had seen. Mr and Mrs Dow, Mr and Mrs Thompson-Bates and Mr Stone had been standing together when the toast was raised, all holding a glass. These were the five glasses in front of me. Aside from the smashed one, two were marked with lipstick, one in a soft pink shade and one in plum, and two were still shining and clean.

  Two things occurred to me at the same time. Mr Stone – I had seen Mr Stone pass a drink to Mr Thompson-Bates earlier! He had picked up two drinks, one of which he gave to Mr Thompson-Bates, and one of which he kept for himself. But was that important? After all, it wasn’t Mr Thompson-Bates who had been poisoned, but his wife.

  And then there were the El Maghrabis, who had been talking to Mr Stone as he collected those drinks. They had spoken for a little while, but we were watching them all the time they talked. And then they left, to hunt down Amina. They had been gone from the party for at least half an hour before Mrs Thompson-Bates collapsed, and they had gone nowhere near the Thompson-Bateses. I knew that if Mrs Thompson-Bates had been poisoned with arsenic, it would have been around thirty minutes before it took effect. And so, I realized, that left Mr El Maghrabi with no opportunity to poison Mrs Thompson-Bates. Amina’s defiant message really had proven her parents’ innocence – she
had given Mr El Maghrabi an alibi, so we could rule him out.

  I looked again at the glasses lying on the ground. One smashed, two lipsticked, two clean. I remembered Mrs Thompson-Bates sneezing, while Mr Thompson-Bates held her drink as well as his own.

  My heart sped up. Just one of the unbroken glasses should be marked with lipstick, from Mrs Dow. But two were – as well as Mrs Thompson-Bates’s smashed glass.

  When you are holding two identical glasses, sometimes they become muddled in your hands. What if that was what had happened here? What if, once Mrs Thompson-Bates had finished sneezing, her husband had accidentally given her back his glass, instead of hers? And if so … could it be that it was not Mrs Thompson-Bates’s glass that had been poisoned, but her husband’s?

  ‘Daisy!’ I gasped. ‘Daisy! It’s the wrong victim!’

  2

  I turned round to see Daisy and Beanie speaking to Mrs Dow. Daisy widened her eyes at me warningly and pursed her lips in a way that I knew meant hush. I closed my mouth, heart beating wildly. What I had to tell them could wait – now I had to listen in to what Mrs Dow was saying.

  ‘I don’t know what to do!’ Mrs Dow was saying. ‘Should I go after them? Oh dear, this is dreadful!’

  ‘No, no, I’m sure they’d want you to stay here,’ said Daisy soothingly.

  ‘Oh – really?’ asked Mrs Dow. ‘Well – oh, this is all terrible! I never saw a thing, not a hint! This whole weekend has been a nightmare – I never should have come back, really!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Beanie softly, taking her hand and patting it. Daisy glared at her, clearly put out that she was being kind to a suspect, but Mrs Dow let out a stuttering sob and said, ‘Thank you, dear. What’s your name?’