Jolly Foul Play: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery (13 page)

The whole table was watching us now. I hated the eager look on Clementine’s face. I could feel a new story starting, more gossip about me, and it would all be Daisy’s fault.

‘Of course I do! You’ve been writing to
a boy
, Hazel Wong! You’ve been doing it all term, and you thought I wouldn’t notice!’ She lowered her voice. ‘Just tell me you haven’t told him about the case,’ she hissed. ‘You haven’t, have you?’

I felt dizzy and thin, as though I was hovering somewhere above all our heads like one of the ghosts we used to try to summon with our Ouija-board rituals. This could not be happening. ‘I—’ I said. ‘But … he’s a detective too, you know that, I was just—’

Daisy went white. ‘You broke the Detective Society pledge!’ she hissed. ‘How could you? You …
enemy
!’

‘No,’ I said, the words stumbling out of my mouth. ‘Daisy—’

‘And the worst part is,’ said Daisy at last, very quietly, although I could see every movement her mouth made, ‘that he doesn’t even
like
you like that, Hazel.’

I slapped her. My hand moved on its own, as though we were two parts of a magnet. I heard the crack of it, then Beanie’s wail. Daisy did not make a noise.

The whole Dining Room gaped, and then Florence stood up from the end of our table. She shouted, ‘Stop that at ONCE! Wells! Wong!’ Then she put her hand on her chest, and I saw what Beanie had meant about her
breathing
. Her face looked pale, and I could believe at that moment that she really was ill.

But I could hardly think about that. The dizzy feeling was worse than ever, and I got up, snatched the letter from where Daisy had dropped it on the table, and rushed out of lunch into the corridor. I raced up the stairs – someone shouted after me, but I ignored them – and before I knew it I was in the airing cupboard where once Daisy and I had held our first ever Detective Society meeting. I crawled into the very lowest space, among the crackling fresh sheets that smelled of starch and coolness. We keep a spare torch there, and I dug it out and clutched it, and my letter, and this casebook. How could I have done that to Daisy? How could she have done that to me?

I tore open Alexander’s letter, heated it against the torch, my fingers shaking, and read.

Weston School, Wednesday 6th November, evening

Dear Hazel,

Really? A murder at Deepdean? Murder does follow both of you around. Of course, if you think it was murder, then I believe you. George and I agree that it could not have been Jones, and so he must have been framed by one of the prefects. No one else could have done it, it’s so neat, really, perfect, except that it’s going to be terribly hard to narrow them down any further. Do any of them have alibis? Do you know their motives? I suppose clues will be particularly important in this case. Have you been able to go back to the scene of the crime yet? I wish we were on the spot with you. Listen to gossip as well. You never know who may have seen something important. What does Daisy always say?
Constant vigilance.
Good luck, and keep us up to date. I wrote this as quick as I could and sent it by return of post.

Alexander

I crumpled the page against my knee. It was exactly what I had wanted to read – Alexander must have read my first letter yesterday afternoon, and replied immediately by the second post – but all the same, it had been the cause of the most terrible rift between me and Daisy. Her words floated back through my head:
he doesn’t even
like
you like that, Hazel
. It made me furious. Alexander and I were friends, that was all. Why did Daisy have to be so cruel and twist it into something awful?

The airing-cupboard door creaked open and I froze. But then … ‘Hazel?’ whispered Beanie.

‘Here,’ I whispered back in relief, and Beanie came burrowing into the sheets like a little animal. She huddled up close to me, and after a moment she patted my arm. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes,’ I said miserably. ‘No.’

‘I don’t think Daisy meant it,’ said Beanie. ‘I don’t think either of you meant it. Kitty’s terribly cross with her for teasing you. Were you really writing to a boy?’

‘Daisy always has to be right,’ I said. ‘And yes, to Alexander. Remember I told you about him? We met him on the train this summer.’

‘Oh, I remember,’ said Beanie. ‘He sounded nice. It’ll be all right. I know it will. You and Daisy are friends, always.’

I was not sure about that, but I did not want to hurt Beanie by saying so.

We sat leaning our heads together and not speaking for a while. I felt my breathing steady and my heart calm in my chest. Beanie was enormously comforting.

And then the airing-cupboard door opened again.

I nearly opened my mouth to say,
Who is it?
but something made me pause, just in case it was Daisy. And a moment later, I was gladder than anything that I had stayed quiet – for the person who came through the door was not Daisy, but Florence.

I saw her worn-in brown shoes and her legs, very long and rather trunk-like (from all the sport she does, of course), with fine reddish hairs on them, and I could smell her, like grass and exercise. Then someone else came through the door behind her. These legs were blonde and shapely, and the shoes at the bottom of them were glossy and quite new. They belonged to Una.

Beanie had her fingers around my arm, quite painfully, and I said, ‘
Shh!
’ in her ear. I felt her give a jerky little nod, and knew that she would be quiet. I was amazed. Beanie and I, quite by accident, had managed to be on the spot for the sort of meeting that we had wanted to overhear, and assumed that we never could.

‘I don’t see why we have to meet in the airing cupboard,’ said Una, sounding rather snobbish about it.

‘Oh, do be quiet, it’s the only secret place in this wretched House,’ said Florence. Her voice was rough, and she moved restlessly.

‘So, what do you want to say to me?’ asked Una, her slight German accent coming out more than usual in her words. I wondered if she was nervous. ‘And why can’t you say it in front of the others?’

‘You know perfectly well,’ said Florence. ‘Elizabeth. If she had told those secrets, she would have ruined us all. It was enough for any one of us to—’

‘To kill her?’ asked Una. ‘Ah, you’ve thought of that too. It’s certainly true. You think one of us
did
do it. But which? Or is this your confession?’

She said it coolly, as though it hardly mattered, but I could feel shivers of tension run through the space between them.

‘Of course not! I’m innocent. But one of us isn’t.’

‘So why ask me here? It could be me. I might be the murderer. And then what would you do?’

‘Nothing,’ said Florence. ‘Because I won’t tell. And I know you won’t either. Because your secret isn’t just about you. It’s about your father – your whole family.’

Una tensed. ‘Is this because of the Games?’ she asked. ‘Are you afraid that if my father is removed from the Party you’ll have no one to stay with in Berlin next summer?’

‘Don’t be slow,’ said Florence. ‘You know what I’m trying to say, more than any of the others would. No matter who is guilty, we can’t let on what we know, because if one of us falls, we all do. If it’s discovered that Elizabeth’s death wasn’t an accident, all our secrets come out. Whoever did it would have no reason to keep them hidden any longer. You lose your family. I lose the Games.’ There was almost a sob in her voice as she said that. Florence, who had seemed so hard and strong! ‘You know, I don’t think Elizabeth ever really understood what our secrets meant. To her, they were just … ways in. It was the only way Elizabeth knew to be close to someone: by keeping their secrets. She didn’t see why we should be hurt by them. But you do, and that’s why I asked you here. You understand that more than anyone. We have to stick together and make sure what happened to Elizabeth officially stays an accident. Jones has been blamed for being careless about the rake, but that may not be enough.’

‘I know,’ said Una. ‘We must get hold of that book. Then we’ll be safe. And Elizabeth won’t matter.’

‘Whatever it takes,’ said Florence, fierce again.

‘Indeed,’ said Una. ‘I may have an idea about that. We shall see. And in the meantime, we don’t say anything about Elizabeth, or who might have done it. We keep the secret. We’re good at that, by now.’

They shook hands. Then the airing-cupboard door opened once, twice, and we were alone again. I could feel Beanie shaking next to me, like a little dog, and I put my hand on her shoulder. Daisy and I might be arguing, but in the face of the astonishing things we had just heard, that hardly mattered. When you are a detective, some things are more important than yourself.

Beanie and I raced back to the dorm, but when we arrived, only Kitty and Lavinia were there. ‘Daisy’s gone,’ said Kitty. ‘She said she had to do something.’

That ached, but I was not surprised. Of course Daisy would not be here. She was in another part of House, following her own leads. It was my punishment for what I had done. I thought about what Florence had said, that knowing secrets was the only way Elizabeth knew to be close to someone. And I thought I knew who else that sounded like.

‘But just listen to what we heard!’ said Beanie. In a flood of words, she poured out what we had seen.

‘But do you really think they were telling the truth?’ asked Kitty.

I nodded. I did not want to detect, not at all, but I had to hold myself together. ‘I don’t see why they wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘What Florence said about the Games next summer – that’s the Olympics, of course. And when we put that together with what Beanie saw, I think she really is ill, and hiding it because she wants to go to Berlin.’

‘Oh!’ said Kitty. ‘Why, of course! You know, my cousin knew someone who had something wrong with her heart, and she’d pant after she went up the stairs.’

‘Ooh!’ said Beanie. ‘Yes! That’s just like what I saw. Oh, poor Florence! Imagine!’

Despite myself, I began to feel excited. ‘And Una—’ I said.

‘Una’s
is
about her father and the Nazis!’ said Beanie.

I thought about some of the things I had learned this summer on the Orient Express, and what Miss Lappet had said to Una.

‘What if Una’s father is secretly Jewish?’ I asked. ‘Or someone in her family is? If the Nazis found out, he’d have to leave the Party. Her family might even have to leave Germany. That would fit, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ said Beanie. ‘Oh, poor Una!’

‘Beanie, stop feeling sorry for everyone!’ said Lavinia. ‘One of them’s a murderer, remember?’

‘Even murderers are people,’ said Beanie. ‘And they both said they didn’t do it.’

‘You can’t just believe them, Beans!’ said Kitty. ‘But we
can
write both motives down on our suspect list now, can’t we?’

‘We do still have to make sure we’re right,’ I said. ‘We need to get proper evidence. A conversation, even that one, isn’t enough.’

‘Do you think Daisy will still let you—’ Kitty began. There was a very still, uncomfortable silence.

‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘I’ll write them down anyway. The suspect list needs to be updated.’

I hoped they could not see my hands shaking.