‘Ready,’ I said, rather shakily.
‘Ready,’ Kitty, Beanie and Lavinia chorused.
‘All right!’ said Daisy. ‘We are all milling about at the party. What happens first?’
‘Lavinia,’ I said, thinking. ‘Mr Stone gave Mr Thompson-Bates a glass of fizz. I saw him.’
‘Good,’ said Daisy. ‘Lavinia, go.’
‘I’ve poisoned the glass already,’ said Lavinia. ‘Here, take it, Daisy.’
‘Thank you,’ Daisy said. ‘How kind.’
‘And now I sneeze,’ I said. ‘Atchoo! I look for my handkerchief in my clutch bag, and—’
‘And I hold your glass with mine,’ said Daisy. ‘I am a chivalrous husband to you, Hazel. Then I give a glass back to you – but it’s the wrong one! So, that’s easy. If Mr Stone did it, that’s how it was done. Next, this is the moment when Amina made her statement. Everyone look up to the left!’
We all looked.
‘I ought to put the poison in the glass now,’ said Kitty. ‘There hasn’t been another moment – bother, it’s difficult! Are you sure that everyone was standing like this? I can’t manage it unless Daisy’s on Hazel’s left.’
‘No!’ said Daisy. ‘I remember distinctly – Mr Thompson-Bates was on Mrs Thompson-Bates’s right. Try it anyway, Kitty, let’s see.’
‘Well, all right!’ said Kitty. ‘I’m reaching out my hand, and—’
‘But I can see you from the corner of my eye!’ I said. ‘And I’d have said something, I’m sure of it. And, Beanie, I can see you too – this simply doesn’t work!’
‘Well,’ said Daisy. ‘Well! This is interesting. So if we assume that this grouping is correct, then – first of all, Mr and Mrs Dow had no chance to doctor the glass before it was switched over, and second, they had no real chance to doctor it at all. Wait – have we proved that only one of our remaining suspects could have dropped the fatal dose into Mr Thompson-Bates’s glass at the right time?’
‘I think we have!’ I said. My sorrow and fear had almost vanished. All I felt was excitement. ‘Daisy! I think we know who the murderer is!’
‘Mr Stone!’ gasped Daisy. ‘Oh – we’ve DONE it! Now all we have to do is prove it. All right, Detectives! As we know, the play is “walking theatre”. It begins on the lawns, moving through the school and ending up on the stage in Hall, where the final scene will be played out. Luckily, I am only in that final scene, and Beanie is in the torchlit parade on the lawns with the rest of the choir. I admit that I was less than pleased to be overlooked for a major role, but now I see that it does have its advantages. I shall be wearing a white dress to play the Spirit of the School, of course, so I shall be quite visible to Mr Stone. My role is to trick him into confessing what he has done. Yours is to keep away from me until the confession has taken place.’
‘But … shouldn’t we stay with you?’ asked Beanie.
‘Absolutely not!’ said Daisy. ‘That would entirely defeat the purpose of the exercise. I must appear to be alone and helpless, to encourage him to make his move.’
‘What are you going to do when he does?’ asked Lavinia. ‘Scream?’
‘Don’t look so sceptical,’ said Daisy. ‘Screaming is a very useful skill that I have spent a good while practising. But, of course, I shall also hit him.’
I felt concerned. I knew that Daisy thought she had everything under control, but I was not convinced that screaming and hitting a murderer who was both strong and cunning would be enough to stop him. Mr Stone was a large, grown-up man, and Daisy was a fifteen-year-old girl. Could she really stop him hurting her?
As we made our way down to school again, I felt nervous to the depths of my stomach. How could I protect Daisy? And what would I do if something were to happen to her?
1
It was past eight, and shadows were long on the Deepdean lawns, but the sky above was still a clear, soft blue. We stepped out of Library corridor and I saw Daisy at once. She stood out in her white gown. Beanie might have been any of the wood nymphs running about, trailing tree-coloured frills, but Daisy was unmissable, looking tall and beautiful as she whispered to the Big Girl who was playing the Founder. I had a sick pang of worry. We wanted her to be noticeable, of course, that was the plan – but was our plan a good one?
A line of maids stood holding trays of drinks, and among them I saw Beryl and Nancy. I gasped, and squeezed my hands together in delight. Of course, the second poisoning had not only ruled out Mr El Maghrabi and Mr and Mrs Dow; it had proved to the police that the maids could not possibly have done it. One of our problems, at least, was solved.
At that moment I heard a familiar voice behind me, and I turned my head slowly, trying to look ordinary, to see Inspector Priestley talking to a plump old man who I thought must be a Council member.
‘But what I think you’re not understanding, sir,’ said the old man in a very carrying tone, ‘is that he is doing considerable good in his country. Germany was quite done in at the end of the War – he has revived its national spirit, and that must be praised.’
‘Warmongering by any name can never be excused, and nationalistic warmongering is the very worst. Now do excuse me,’ snapped the Inspector, ‘I need to be anywhere else but here. Ah, look, there’s one of my wards.’
He came striding across the grass, and stood staring down at me, his brow crinkled.
‘Why did you call me your ward?’ I asked, blushing.
‘It’s a plausible story,’ said the Inspector. ‘And while I know that Miss Wells would say that the two of you don’t need looking after, that’s not entirely true, is it, after what I heard her announce in San?’
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘And – not that we need help, exactly, but … this plan does seem quite dangerous, even though we know who the murderer is.’
I explained, in whispers, exactly what we had uncovered during our re-creation. The Inspector’s eyebrows raised, and his face got even more crumpled-looking than usual.
‘Interesting,’ he said, ‘very interesting. And, knowing Miss Wells, I’m sure nothing I could say could convince her not to go through with her plan?’
I nodded, wincing.
‘Well, at least this makes my job somewhat easier. I’ve done some digging into your Mr Stone – and all your other suspects, though that now seems to have been unnecessary. Although I am inclined to believe that his wife died of natural, if tragic, causes (in a train crash in Leeds, while Mr Stone was out of the country), it’s certainly true that he knew Mrs Rivers in her youth, and they were actually engaged for a short while. Mr Stone went to Egypt to make his fortune and Mrs Rivers met Mr Rivers while he was there. They were married before Mr Stone returned, very happily I hear, but after Mr Rivers’ death Mr Stone struck up contact with Mrs Rivers again. There are plenty of letters from him at her Kent address – he was quite insistent that they belonged together, a vision she did not seem to share. He became quite enraged in later missives, and I believe that he might have resorted to violence in the face of rejection. If you think that Mr Thompson-Bates may have seen something at the dinner – well, he ought to be watched tonight too. Mr Stone has two targets tonight, and he may strike at either of them, or both. At least the crowd is thinner than it was on Saturday, and those who are left are much less likely to wander off. They’re crowded together like sheep.’
I looked around at the crowd on the lawns, and I saw that he was right. The grown-ups were all leaning together as they talked, their hands on their daughters’ shoulders, darting their eyes about at the people next to them. No one felt safe, and everyone was under suspicion.
‘Sheep or buses,’ said the Inspector, ‘since I’m a Londoner now. Though being here this weekend has reminded me how much I miss green spaces, even when they are crime scenes. Now, if Miss Wells has the bit between her teeth, I know from experience that I cannot stop her until she has run her course. I can promise you, though, to be on hand to help. I shan’t let her or Mr Thompson-Bates out of my sight.’
&n
bsp; ‘Neither will I,’ I said firmly.
‘Good,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘By the way – the station is testing the liquid in the glass Mrs Thompson-Bates drank from, the one that you suggest really belonged to her husband, but I’m sure it’ll come back positive for arsenic. Now, remember – keep yourself safe this evening, first and foremost. If you and Daisy put your lives in danger at the same time, I may struggle to save you both. Do you understand?’
‘I can save myself,’ I said.
‘You’ve been around Daisy too long,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘Of course you can, but even the best detectives sometimes need help.’
A violin began to tune up behind us, and the Inspector turned. ‘Time for the play,’ he murmured. ‘Good luck, Hazel.’
2
The violin started up in earnest, and then the choir all began to sing about the Founder walking up through Oakeshott Woods for her first sight of the buildings that would become Deepdean.
It was supposed to be a stirring song, full of bravery and discovery, but the thought of walking through Oakeshott Woods makes me feel nervous now. I imagine it as full of murderers. I shifted uncomfortably, and I saw that, in the choir, Beanie was looking nervous too. She grimaced, and I heard her voice wobble.
The Big Girl playing the Founder appeared, clutching some scholarly books and wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and began to act out her purchase of the school grounds.
But I was really watching Mr Stone. He yawned and leaned against a wall, just as though nothing at all was going on, and I was amazed at his nerve. Near him, Mr and Mrs Dow were whispering to each other, Emily looking quite terrified between them, and close to them was Mr Thompson-Bates. I was surprised to see him – Mrs Thompson-Bates was still in San, after all – but I saw how he was hovering protectively over Lallie, his hand heavy on her shoulder, and I understood. I glanced over at Daisy, and she winked at me. In the candlelight she glowed, looking exceedingly spiritual (and rather ladylike), but my heart clenched.
Into Old Wing we went, following the Founder as she argued with various town residents, and mimed welcoming the first form of girls to arrive at the school, and then we went winding through Library corridor, the school being built around us.
Despite my nerves, my mind wandered. It was not a very interesting play – or, rather, it was nothing new to us. It could have been the topic of any Prayers, or any Sunday chapel speech. Faith, hope, striving, intelligence – I had heard it all a hundred times. Instead I thought of the case – the gala dinner, the garden party, and what had happened in those woods.
At least only one person has died, I thought – for we knew that Mrs Thompson-Bates was out of danger and on the mend. At first it was a comforting reminder, but then those words began to sound odd. There had been three crimes, we knew that: the incident in the woods, and the poisonings at the gala dinner and the garden party. Yet only one person was dead. Was that odd? Had Mr Thompson-Bates been attacked just because he knew something? Was Mrs Rivers supposed to have died in the woods on Friday morning? If so, why hadn’t the killer finished the job? But if she was always meant to die at dinner, why throttle her first and give her the chance to tell the police? And the two different methods! They could have made sense when we thought the Dows were behind them, but now we knew that Mr Stone must have done them both, the contrast between strangling and poisoning felt odder than ever.
I felt, suddenly and strongly, that something did not make sense.
I looked around. There was Mrs Dow, her round little body tense – I could tell she was remembering horrid things in these corridors – and next to her Mr Dow’s face was set. Mr Thompson-Bates was watching the play with a smirk on his face. I had the distinct feeling that he was no more interested in it than I was. And – there, in a blink – Mr Stone was gone. He was leaning against a wall, and then he was not. He had vanished into the shadows. Where was he? Had Daisy seen him go?
We were up in Big Girls’ Wing now, and a second former was reciting poetry, Miss Dodgson mouthing along behind her proudly. The lights were off, and an ethereal glow came from the candles we had all been given to hold. The second former motioned forward, and we followed her up the stairs beyond the headmistress’s office, stairs that are almost never used – stairs that lead to Deepdean School’s observatory tower.
The tower is quite old, and it was built many years ago so that the Big Girls could study astronomy. But it turns out that Deepdean doesn’t have many clear nights, and anyway the Big Girls kept on getting up to mischief when they were allowed out of House after lights out. So the observatory has just become a large, disused room with the Deepdean clock built into one side of it, and a sliding shutter in the roof that can be scrolled open to see the stars.
I had never been up there before, but I had heard stories. Now that I was here, I saw that the stories did not match up to the reality. The room was chill, even with our warmth breathing up to the open roof along with our candle flames, and the stars sparked far above us. The candles cast shadows across our faces and spooked hugely on the bare, scratched walls. There were covered objects too, and although my head told me that they were only old boxes and chests, lumber from the school, and a covered telescope, my heart was certain that they were dangers. I felt tightly squeezed in next to too many people, but also quite alone, and quite terrified.
The fifth formers began a scene about the great scientists who’d had their start at Deepdean. They struggled rather, for there didn’t seem to be many, apart from an old girl who had discovered a star.
‘They’re leaving out all the good ones,’ breathed Daisy in my ear. ‘There’s a fabulous lady driver who set the land-speed record, and a woman who looks after the lizards at London Zoo, but neither of them are very ladylike.’
I turned to ask her how she knew these things – although I should not be surprised any more, as Daisy always has unusual facts up her sleeve – but she had gone again, floating gracefully over to the other side of the room.
As she did so, I saw Mr Stone re-emerge from the staircase and turn his head to stare at her. He had a curious look in his eyes, and I did not like it in the slightest.
And then, just as I was noticing that and feeling sick to my stomach, there were several very loud bangs, and the world turned white.
3
Most people screamed. The observatory filled with smoke, and I found myself grabbed and thrown backwards. I saw stars, and I thought with odd clarity that I must be dying – but then I realized that the stars were in the air, not in my head. Rockets were soaring through the open skylight and bursting above us in beautiful rainbow colours, soft against the still-darkening sky. They were, I realized, the fireworks that Miss Runcible had been making for tonight – but surely they ought not have gone off now, while we were all still in the tower?
I pressed myself against the wall – and there in front of me I saw Amina. She was standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped and face lit up. She looked thrilled and terrified, like a person balancing at the edge of an enormously high building. I had to admit that I knew how she felt. Everything was so bright and wild. This is what comes of being friends with Daisy for so long, for the Hazel I used to be would never have enjoyed this chaos so much.
Mr El Maghrabi pushed through the crowd and seized her arm.
‘I TOLD YOU TO BE GOOD!’ he shouted at her. ‘WHY MUST YOU DO THIS?’
‘AMINA!’ cried Mrs El Maghrabi, next to him. Her hat was singed but her eyes were as bright as her daughter’s.
‘It wasn’t me!’ cried Amina. ‘I swear! You know I promised not to do anything else after this afternoon.’
Then there was a shriek and a fizz, and a bright jagged ruff of white light spouted from the middle of the room.
‘GET BACK!’ roared Miss Runcible. ‘IT’S A CATHERINE WHEEL!’
More people screamed, and a writhing, fighting scrum of girls and mistresses and parents formed, all surging towards the stairs.
I saw B
eanie being swept downstairs, with Kitty following, grabbing at her hand. Lavinia shoved her way after them.
And I crouched down behind a dusty old box at the edge of the room, and hid.
I ought to have got to safety, I knew that. Fireworks were still spinning and bursting around me, and I very much did not want to be hurt. My ears were ringing.
But I did not want to leave Daisy, or ruin her plan. She was standing pressed against one wall of the room, as though she was terribly frightened. Her white dress was singed and her cheeks smutty.
Mr Stone went bounding towards her as the last of the crowd disappeared from the tower room. ‘Come here!’ he shouted, grabbing at her arm.
I tensed. Was this the moment? Was he about to reveal himself?
‘Get away from me!’ cried Daisy. ‘I warn you!’
Mr Stone raised his hands. ‘Excuse me for trying!’ he snapped. ‘I thought your Uncle M might not want you dead, that’s all.’
‘What do you know about my uncle?’ gasped Daisy – for, at Deepdean, Uncle Felix is rather a deep secret. It was shocking to hear his code name bandied about like that.
‘We work together,’ said Mr Stone. ‘Hush hush, though, eh?’
Daisy gaped at him. ‘Work – together?’ she asked.
‘Yes, work together. For several years now,’ said Mr Stone. ‘Hasn’t he told you about me? Look, will you get downstairs or won’t you? If you die under my watch, Felix is liable to have me killed.’
‘I’m sure he would,’ said Daisy proudly. ‘But I shan’t go anywhere with you, because I know the truth. You – murderer!’
She meant it to be dramatic, and it was – but not in the way she was expecting. Mr Stone reeled backwards, staring at her – and then he burst out laughing.
8 Top Marks for Murder Page 18
