Arsenic For Tea: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery (A Wells and Wong Mystery)

by Robin Stevens

  ‘See?’ Daisy hissed to me. ‘A guilty conscience!’

  It was only Daisy’s mother, though. She slipped into the library, hugging her fur around her as though she were cold.

  ‘Now, be vigilant!’ Daisy mouthed in the half-dark behind the curtain. ‘We must remember everything he says to her so we can tell Uncle Felix afterwards.’

  But there was not much to remember. Lady Hastings and Mr Curtis merely stared at each other with great big round eyes, without saying anything. If Mr Curtis meant to trick her into giving him the Ming vase on the landing, this seemed an odd way to go about it.

  ‘My darling,’ said Mr Curtis. ‘My darling . . .’ And then he took hold of Lady Hastings and kissed her vigorously.

  I nearly laughed. Grown-ups look so odd and ugly when they kiss, and Mr Curtis and Daisy’s mother were being so enthusiastic about it.

  But then I looked at Daisy.

  Her hands were over her open mouth, and her eyes were open too, as wide as they could go. She was staring and staring at her mother and Mr Curtis, and tears were trickling down her face and onto her curled-up fingers.

  I had never seen Daisy cry before. I didn’t think she had tears in her, the way ordinary people do. But as soon as I saw her, I realized that this was extremely serious. This was Daisy’s mother, and Daisy’s mother was married to Daisy’s father. She was not supposed to be kissing other men in libraries. She was not supposed to be kissing other men at all.

  The library door banged open again and Bertie burst into the room. Stephen was just behind him, and I had a snapshot of his shocked, freckly face, mouth open almost as wide as Daisy’s, before Bertie roared, ‘MOTHER!’ and Lady Hastings and Mr Curtis leaped apart as though they had been electrocuted.

  ‘Bertie!’ gasped Lady Hastings. ‘Mr Curtis was just—’

  The door banged open again, and Uncle Felix came striding in. ‘Margaret, are you in here?’ he called. ‘I want— What’s this?’

  ‘I was having a quiet word with Denis,’ said Lady Hastings. ‘Bertie interrupted us.’

  ‘A quiet word, was it?’ asked Bertie, face burning. ‘Don’t talk such tosh, Mother, you’ve done this too many times. If it were up to me I’d— Oh! Come on, Stephen, let’s leave these idiots to it.’ And he turned and shoved his way out of the room, looking ready to crumple up with rage.

  Stephen followed him, darting one last shocked glance back at Mr Curtis as he did so. Poor Stephen, I thought, caught up in the middle of this! And poor Daisy too. She was still weeping.

  Uncle Felix stared from Lady Hastings to Mr Curtis, then back again, and I could see him understanding everything.

  ‘So, Margaret,’ he said. ‘What were you really doing?’ He suddenly sounded quite dangerous.

  ‘I don’t see what it is to you,’ said Mr Curtis. ‘It’s a free country.’

  ‘For one thing,’ said Uncle Felix, ‘I happen to be Margaret’s brother. And for another – I’d like to know more about you, Mr Denis Curtis. Which antiques house do you work for, again – was it Christie’s?’

  Mr Curtis froze. ‘None of your business,’ he snarled, all politeness gone from his voice. ‘I didn’t say. And I’ll thank you to move out of my way!’

  He barged out of the room – very rudely, I thought, hating him more than ever. Lady Hastings was left standing alone beside the sofa, hugging herself with her arms again and looking forlorn.

  ‘Sometimes you’re horrid,’ she said to Uncle Felix. ‘Why do you always have to go poking your nose in?’

  ‘Margaret, listen for a moment. That man – he’s not the sort of person you ought to be associating with. I strongly suggest you reconsider having him in the house.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so tiresome,’ Lady Hastings snapped. ‘Just because he’s my friend! This is my home, and you can’t tell me what to do in it.’

  ‘He needs to go, Margaret!’ said Uncle Felix – but Lady Hastings had already stormed out. He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair, and then he strode after her. We were alone.

  Daisy was still crouched behind the curtain, gulping, her face covered in tears. I didn’t know what to do. She’d had a shock – I remembered vaguely that people in shock were supposed to have cold water poured over them, but I didn’t have any cold water to hand.

  ‘Daisy,’ I said, trying to be encouraging. I knew I couldn’t speak about what we had just seen. ‘Didn’t you hear? It sounds as though Uncle Felix is suspicious of Mr Curtis after all! We might really be on to something!’

  Daisy sniffed. There was a short silence. ‘Hazel,’ she said in a very small voice, and she crawled out from behind the curtain, ‘I think you may have a point.’

  The library door crashed open again.

  ‘THERE you are!’ cried Kitty crossly. ‘See, Beanie? I told you they’d be hiding down here! You beasts! Come on, Miss Alston says we have to go to bed.’

  11

  Daisy climbed the stairs to the nursery – but her mouth was pinched and her fists were clenched, and I could tell that she was still going over and over what we had seen in the library.

  ‘Are you all right, Daisy?’ asked Beanie, peering at her. ‘Your face is red.’

  ‘I’m quite all right,’ said Daisy, snapping to attention. ‘The library was hot, that’s all.’

  ‘We saw Mr Curtis just now,’ said Kitty. ‘He was looking awfully cross about something. Is he all right?’

  ‘Hah!’ said Daisy, before she could stop herself. ‘I mean, I’m sure he is.’

  ‘He had that glorious watch of his out again,’ Kitty went on. ‘Your Aunt Saskia was there too, and she was simply ogling it. It was quite funny to watch. She was like a cat staring at a bird!’

  ‘But it’s Mr Curtis’s!’ said Beanie, shocked.

  Kitty sighed, and even Daisy grinned briefly. Beanie is so beautifully honest that she thinks the rest of the world must be too.

  ‘Excited about your birthday tomorrow?’ asked Kitty. ‘I simply adore birthdays. So many presents!’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Daisy vaguely. ‘The birthday party, though – ugh! A children’s tea! I don’t know how old Mummy thinks I am.’

  Of course, she wasn’t really cross with her mother because of the birthday tea. It was the library, I knew – and I felt awful for her. She couldn’t even breathe a whisper about it to the others – if Kitty knew, we would be hearing about it all weekend, and the whole school would know as soon as summer term began.

  So I was not at all surprised when Daisy made an excuse to leave Kitty and Beanie changing in the nursery while we went to brush our teeth in the upstairs bathroom.

  The upstairs bathroom is just as faded as the rest of Fallingford. Its white porcelain is all cracked, and there’s a rusty ring around the edge of the clawed bath. The tap drips, and a green stain wriggles all the way down from the top of its chain into the hole where the water runs away, like the ghost of a worm.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked, as soon as we had pushed the bolt to behind us and turned on the water. It gulped and hissed, and quite drowned out our voices to anyone trying to listen.

  Daisy waved her hands and sat down on the edge of the bath tub. ‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘Don’t concern yourself about that. I’ve been considering what we have discovered so far, and it seems to me that since Mr Curtis is in this house for nefarious purposes, what we saw in the library today is simply more evidence of his wicked plans. He has clearly decided to trick my mother into falling in love with him so she’ll believe that all our nice things are worthless – and as I said before, Mummy is often not at all bright about people. We must consider her the victim, and Mr Curtis the very cunning criminal.’

  ‘But, Daisy,’ I said. ‘It still happened.’

  ‘Well, yes, it happened, but it doesn’t mean anything, Hazel. As soon as we unmask Mr Curtis for the villain he is, Mummy will come to her senses – what she has of them – and go back to Daddy. So, you see, it’s more imperative than ever that we
uncover enough evidence to show to Uncle Felix, and we do it as quickly as possible.’

  I looked at Daisy. Her eyes were glittering and her cheeks were pink. This was Daisy with a Plan. But although I agreed with her about Mr Curtis, I was still terribly worried. I could see that she was up to her old tricks again – trying to make the evidence fit the way she hoped it would. No matter the reason why Mr Curtis had kissed Daisy’s mother, he had still done it, and Daisy’s mother had kissed him back. I remembered all the arguments between Lord and Lady Hastings that week, and knew that, whatever Daisy said, the situation between them was very serious indeed. What if Daisy’s mother wanted to run away with Mr Curtis? What would Daisy do then?

  ‘So, Watson,’ said Daisy, ‘we must absolutely watch Mr Curtis like hawks tomorrow. We can’t let him out of our sight!’

  ‘But it’s your birthday!’ I said.

  ‘Never mind birthdays! Some things are more important. Besides, I’ve had plenty of birthdays already.’

  There was a sudden banging on the door.

  ‘Let us in, Squashy, you horror!’ shouted Bertie. ‘Don’t be an ass, come out! What are you doing in there?’

  ‘Brushing our teeth, of course!’ shouted Daisy. ‘Oh, all right. We’re coming out.’

  She unlocked the door, and we went out onto the landing. Bertie was there, arms crossed, and beside him was Stephen. I blushed to be seen coming out of a bathroom by two boys, but Daisy merely sniffed and looked unconcerned, as though she had just emerged from a ballroom.

  ‘You’re a queer fish, Squashy,’ said Bertie when he saw us. ‘I heard the two of you talking. What was it about?’

  ‘You, and how vile you are,’ said Daisy rudely. ‘Poor old Stephen, forced to spend time in your odious presence. Now clear off and stop sticking your nose in.’

  Bertie scowled and made a horrible face at her, but Stephen smiled at me. I still felt rather awkward, but I smiled back.

  ‘Why does he call you Squashy?’ I asked curiously when we were back in the nursery. Beanie, who was already in bed, waved at us.

  ‘According to him, I was a fat baby,’ said Daisy. ‘That isn’t true, of course. I was perfect. And anyway, he had to wear an eye-patch for his squint until he was ten. He thinks it’s terribly amusing to call me . . . that name . . . now, but if he ever gets engaged I shall call him Squinty in front of his fiancée and we’ll see if she still wants to marry him then.’

  Daisy put on her nightie and got into her bed, which creaked under her. She blew out the candle on her bedside table – a funny three-legged thing which had once been green but was now not much of anything – rolled over so that her nose was against the peeling yellow wallpaper (a circus scene, with elephants and lions and ringmasters chasing each other in circles), and began to breathe as though she were asleep. Kitty crept into Beanie’s bed to whisper with her, but I knew that Daisy was still very much awake. I wanted to speak to her – but was not quite sure what I should say.

  I thought of my bedroom at home, all smooth and white, with the fan going round and round soothingly above my head, and the voices and chiming glasses from my parents’ drinks parties drifting up the stairs. Here the blankets itched, and though I had three of them I still shivered. The nursery walls were all crooked, the house creaked and grumbled, and something shrieked outside. I remembered the first night I had spent here, when I thought it was a baby, but Daisy told me it was only a fox. All at once I longed to go home.

  It was odd, because I should have been enjoying myself – it was the hols, and I was with Daisy, after all – but I was feeling more and more homesick. Suddenly I couldn’t wait until Daisy’s party was over.

  1

  The next morning I was woken by something sitting very heavily on my stomach.

  I gasped and opened my eyes.

  ‘Wotcher, Watson,’ said Daisy, leaning over so that her hair tickled my face. ‘It’s my birthday. Come on, get up – we’ve got a villain to unmask. Look, I brought provisions.’

  She dropped an apple and an English muffin, leaking butter and honey, onto my front. A shining oily patch spread across my nightie before I could snatch it away.

  ‘Daisy!’ I said, eating the muffin in large sticky bites to get rid of it. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Pre-breakfast breakfast.’ Daisy bit into a muffin of her own. ‘I would have thought you of all people would understand. Detectives need sustenance.’

  ‘How early is it?’ I asked. ‘Happy birthday, by the way.’

  ‘Not very,’ said Daisy. ‘Half past seven. Oh, come on, Hazel, I’ve been up for hours and hours, and so have Hetty and Mrs D. But listen, we must begin at once. As I came up the stairs past the first floor landing I heard movement in Mr Curtis’s room. We can’t let him just wander about without being watched!’

  This morning Daisy looked happy – glowing with it, not at all like the girl I had seen behind the curtain last night. I thought I knew why. She had taken all the real things that had happened yesterday, and in her head she had turned them into the wooden parts of a puzzle. I was still worried for her, but I couldn’t say anything. If this was how she had chosen to deal with what we’d seen in the library, I couldn’t stop her – it was her birthday, after all.

  Our talking had woken Kitty and Beanie.

  ‘Whatever’s wrong?’ grumbled Kitty, raising herself up on her elbows and peering about the nursery. ‘Why are you awake?’

  ‘Happy birthday!’ cried Beanie, leaping out of bed and standing up on her tiptoes like a small ballerina. ‘I didn’t forget!’

  Daisy suddenly sat up, digging her knees into my stomach and scrambling over me to get to the window above the head of my bed. She wriggled her fingers through the bars and squashed her face out as far as it would go. ‘Look!’ she cried.

  We clambered up next to her, Beanie wriggling curiously and Kitty still grumbling at how early it was, and through the black crosshatch of the bars we saw Mr Curtis, in tennis shorts and an aertex shirt, jogging easily across the gold-shining morning lawn. He looped round the maze, which cast a long dark shadow over the paler grass, and leaped over the gravel pathway, with its clipped box hedges and little stone urns. At the woods by the lake he turned and began to jog back towards the big oak and the walled garden. We all watched him go.

  ‘Why are we looking at Mr Curtis?’ asked Beanie.

  ‘Ooh, Daisy, do you have a pash?’ said Kitty, giggling.

  ‘Hardly,’ said Daisy. ‘I only mean – whatever is he doing up so early? It isn’t normal.’ She elbowed me in the ribs as she said this, and I winced.

  But just then someone else appeared on the lawn, coming around the back of the house from the stables where the cars are kept.

  It was Lord Hastings. He had his Barbour on, a snapped-open rifle hanging over one arm, and Millie leaping along at his heels. Toast Dog was panting and struggling behind them. As he stumped through the grass he looked absolutely right, in a way that Mr Curtis didn’t. He raised his hands to his mouth and gave a ‘Halloa’, and Mr Curtis reined himself in. They approached each other – and suddenly I couldn’t help feeling nervous.

  Mr Curtis had the swagger back in his step. He said something that we couldn’t hear (Daisy scrabbled for the catch and pushed the window open a little, but we were still too high up and far away to make out any words), but it looked like what he said was swaggering as well. Lord Hastings’ round face turned beet red. He jerked his chin up, just like Daisy does when she is truly furious, and bellowed, so loud that we could hear almost all of it, ‘ENOUGH, SIR! I have been trying to . . . but now I . . . leave this house IMMEDIATELY! . . . staying another night under . . . who you are!’

  I could hardly believe it. Lord Hastings was making Mr Curtis leave Fallingford!

  I expected Mr Curtis to be angry, or upset, at what Lord Hastings had said – but on the contrary, he threw back his head and laughed. Then he said one more thing, turned on his heel and jogged away. Lord Hastings was left standing alone, clench
ing his fists and panting like Toast Dog.

  ‘Lord!’ said Kitty. ‘What was that about? Will Mr Curtis really have to leave? Poor man!’

  ‘Poor—!’ Daisy started. Then she remembered herself, and made her face go very innocent. ‘I can’t think what it could be. I’m sure it’s just a boring grown-up thing. Let’s go down to breakfast.’

  2

  I was halfway through my third piece of toast and marmalade – and trying to keep my nose away from the foul-smelling kipper Daisy was dissecting behind the pile of presents arranged for her by Miss Alston – when Lord Hastings came bustling into the room. He was still slightly red-faced and grass-stained, but he seemed determined to be cheerful. ‘Daughter!’ he cried when he saw Daisy. ‘Happiest of birthdays! Aren’t you going to open your presents?’

  ‘Thinking about it,’ said Daisy. ‘Mummy hasn’t given me anything, I see.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll come later,’ said Lord Hastings, head turned away as he piled his plate with bacon and eggs.

  As he was speaking the door swept open again, and Aunt Saskia wafted in. She lost a scarf on the door handle and an earring under the sideboard (Chapman had to bend down with an arthritic crunching of knees and fish it out), and her nasty furry wrap came undone and almost slipped off her shoulders. I saw with disgust that it had a face like a squashed cat’s. I thought I must be imagining things, but it really did have little shining eyes and a flat nose, and whiskers. I shall never understand the English even if I live to be a thousand.

  ‘Good morning, Aunt Saskia,’ said Lord Hastings. ‘Bertie, do pass the salt.’

  Bertie passed it, making a face at Daisy from behind his hand. Just then there was a shriek from the kitchens. We all jumped and stared nervously at each other, and I wondered what other awful thing could have happened. Mrs Doherty stuck her head through the door, looking flustered.

  ‘Apologies,’ she said. ‘Hetty found another rat in amongst the flour. It’s the third this week!’