There were two, one written on thick cream paper with a gold letterhead, and one typed, rather badly, on paper with a heavy bluish grain. The first was from Lady Eveleigh, and the second from Professor Roger Fox-Trottenham. Both were utterly glowing about Miss Alston’s qualifications and teaching ability. I would advice you to take her on without delay, wrote Lady Eveleigh. I was adviced by my good friend Lord Dutton to hire Miss Alston, and I have not regretted it for an instant, wrote Professor Fox-Trottenham.
‘Daisy!’ I said, confused. ‘Look, they both—’
‘They both use the wrong sort of advise!’ hissed Daisy. ‘And look at their signatures!’
They looked quite different at first – but then I saw it. The G of Roger and the G of Eveleigh had the same thick loop with a flick at the end.
I sat back on my heels.
‘I think,’ said Daisy, going pink with excitement, ‘that these two letters were written by the same person!’
‘Golly!’ said Kitty. I could tell that, in spite of herself, she was impressed. Beanie’s eyes had gone rounder than ever.
Miss Alston’s references were fakes. She was lying, and she was here because of a lie. But why? What did she want with Fallingford? And how were we to find out?
‘What shall we do?’ Beanie said exactly what I was thinking. I was stumped – but, of course, nothing ever halts Daisy’s mind for long. If she comes up against a problem, she bounds round it and keeps on chasing after the truth. She stared at the three of us, beaming.
‘It’s perfectly obvious!’ she said. ‘We’re going to speak to the only other people who have any idea what goes on in this house. Mrs Doherty and Hetty.’
15
We managed to creep out of the drawing room and across the hall to the kitchens without seeing anyone. The kitchens are lovely. I am quite sure that nothing has changed in them since Queen Victoria was alive – all cold stone and shiny brass, with great wooden racks swinging up above your head that are quite alarming until you realize that they are only for drying things. Mrs Doherty the cook, though, makes the place feel warm and full of food – there are always broken bits of a tart that did not quite turn out as expected, and cooling trays of biscuits where one or two have caught on their undersides and need to be eaten up. Mrs Doherty is very little and smiling, with clipped grey hair under her white cap, and she moves very fast, as though there is never enough time in the day.
When we came in she was standing among Lord Hastings’ bright but fading flowers, peeling carrots, her knife flashing and sparks of orange flying out into the air all around her; Hetty had her hands buried in the sink, washing up.
Daisy cleared her throat and they both looked up.
‘Hello, Miss Daisy, love,’ said Mrs Doherty. ‘Come for your bunbreak? If you’re hungry there’s a treacle tart with a burned side that can’t go out at lunch, and macaroons too. I made them yesterday, but I forgot to put them out at tea.’
My heart jumped at the mention of yesterday’s birthday tea – but all the same I couldn’t stop my mouth watering. The macaroons were piled up on a plate, all fat and golden and tempting.
‘Golly,’ said Daisy. ‘You are a brick, Mrs D. Can I have both?’
‘Of course you can,’ said Mrs Doherty, beaming. ‘As it’s you.’
‘And you lot can have the same,’ said Daisy to the three of us, ‘as you’re with me.’
The macaroons were heavenly, like biting into a puff of coconut, and the tart was rich and sticky. I chewed happily (one bite of one, and then one of the other, to keep on surprising my mouth) and listened to Daisy talk.
‘Isn’t it funny about Miss Alston?’ said Daisy conversationally, biting a perfect circle around the edge of her macaroon. ‘How she came here, I mean. Daddy told me that she applied out of the blue, just like that! Imagine! She must have heard about my genius.’
Mrs Doherty laughed. ‘Your genius, eh?’ she said, giving Hetty a wink.
Hetty grinned back, gave a side plate one final swoop with her cloth and set it down on the side. ‘Yes, you’re famous as anything,’ she said. ‘You ought to watch out, you’ll have the King here for you next.’
I smiled to myself. There is a part of Daisy that does think that, one day, she will have the King congratulating her.
‘Mind you, Miss Alston is a bit odd,’ Hetty went on. ‘Mrs D and I were only talking about it only the other day. Keeps herself to herself – not even any personal bits in her room! She must keep everything in that handbag of hers, but she never puts it down.’
‘Really?’ asked Daisy, doing a very good impression of a surprised person. Beanie choked on her tart.
‘And all her clothes are new. I think she’s a princess in disguise, and Mrs D thinks she’s a spy.’
‘That was a joke,’ said Mrs Doherty, beginning to peel again without looking down at what her hands were doing. ‘But she is a funny one. When I tried to speak to her about Mr Curtis, she shut up like a clam.’
‘She’s been even more odd since . . . what happened,’ said Hetty, glancing at Kitty and Beanie. ‘She keeps popping up everywhere I go. I’d think I was imagining it, but Mrs D’s noticed it too.’
‘This weekend!’ said Mrs Doherty. ‘Miss A lurking about all over the house, your aunt making the teaspoons go missing, your brother playing that dreadful instrument at all hours, and that poor sweet penniless friend of his, with no good clothes to his name – Hetty’s been darning his socks in secret. And now a dead body in one of the guest rooms! Hetty can’t get in to clean. Infuriating. Your uncle won’t even let us into the dining room to clear the tea. I can only imagine what nasty things are happening to all those cakes, left without a covering. We shall have more rats than ever.’
Kitty was listening with eyes wide and mouth in a greedy O. This was a perfect heaven of gossip for her.
‘How do you know Stephen hasn’t any money?’ asked Daisy.
I shifted uncomfortably. I wished she would leave Stephen alone.
‘I found his wallet in the hall yesterday,’ said Hetty. ‘Of course, I had to open it to know whose it was. All I found inside was tuppence. You lot all drop small coins about like water. You don’t know what they’re for. It takes someone who knows the value of money to keep tuppence.’
‘Hetty, that’s really quite good!’ said Daisy.
‘It’s what they always say in my detective novels,’ said Mrs Doherty. ‘Any detail, no matter how small, may be important.’
‘Constant vigilance!’ chorused Hetty and Daisy, beaming at each other.
When Mrs Doherty mentioned small details, I remembered the teacup, the watch and the piece of paper. These were the details that our whole case so far was based on, and this was our chance to find out more about at least one of them.
‘The cup!’ I said to Daisy. Luckily she understood me at once.
‘What cup?’ asked Mrs Doherty.
I took another bite of tart so that I would not have to answer.
‘Hazel’s worried about the things from tea yesterday. She hates rats,’ Daisy said quickly. ‘Is it really all still in the dining room? You haven’t tidied it up?’
At that moment Chapman came into the kitchens with a tray of glasses that clinked against each other. He peered around at us as though he wanted to tell us off. ‘What are you doing here, Miss Daisy?’ he asked.
‘Nothing!’ said Daisy quickly. ‘Only talking to Mrs Doherty and Hetty about . . . tea.’
The glasses on Chapman’s tray jangled together like out-of-tune bells, and he backed away against a row of cupboards as though Daisy had just brandished a knife at him.
‘That’s quite enough of that,’ he said, as if Daisy had said murder instead of tea. ‘Miss Daisy, take your friends out of these kitchens at once. Hetty and Mrs Doherty have lunch to prepare, and I am a very busy man. Now, Miss Daisy!’
Once again we had to leave – but we had plenty to think about. It seemed to me that we had been given one extra clue. Although we knew that
Chapman could not actually have been responsible for Mr Curtis’s murder, the way he had behaved when tea was mentioned made me think that he was worried about it. But why?
16
Out we went into the hall – and stumbled onto another scene. Lady Hastings, in the same bright-green dress and extravagant fur she had been wearing the day before, was standing in the middle of the worn hall carpet, and she was shouting at Uncle Felix.
‘I’m in mourning!’ she wailed. ‘Why can’t anyone understand that? Oh, I have a heartless family. You should have heard Bertie just now, telling me I should be pleased that Denis is dead. Pleased!’
‘Don’t exaggerate, Margaret,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘You hardly knew him.’
‘Hardly knew him!’ cried Lady Hastings. ‘I’ll have you know that he was my everything!’
Next to me, Daisy gasped. Her face had gone very pale. ‘NO HE WASN’T!’ she shouted at her mother, her usual composure cracking. ‘DADDY IS! Why do you have to ruin everything?’
‘Daisy!’ said Lady Hastings, turning to face us. ‘What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to go and play? Miss Alston! Miss Alston!’
‘Really, Daisy, do get yourself under control,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘We can’t have everyone losing their heads.’
Daisy glared at him. ‘I am under control,’ she said. ‘Are you?’
‘This family!’ Lady Hastings threw up her hands theatrically and rushed away up the stairs.
At that moment Miss Alston stepped out of the music room. Of course, she must have heard her name being called, but seeing her still gave me a frightful shock. Daisy froze, Kitty gasped and Beanie gave a small, frightened squeal.
‘What a lot of noise,’ said Miss Alston. ‘Whatever is going on?’
I stared at her shiny brown handbag and wondered how on earth we would ever get it away from her.
‘My sister, making a scene,’ said Uncle Felix, and he gave Miss Alston a curious look. I struggled to work out what it was . . . and then I had it. It was the sort of look Daisy gave me, to tell me what she was thinking without using words. It was a look between friends – but as far as I knew, Uncle Felix and Miss Alston had never met before this weekend.
‘Miss Alston,’ he said, with another one of those curious looks, ‘I think the girls are bored.’
‘We are not!’ said Daisy. ‘We’re perfectly all right. Kitty and Beanie were going to help Mrs D set out the lunch things, and Hazel and I were about to take a quick walk in the garden. Weren’t we, Hazel?’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yes.’
‘But—’ Kitty began indignantly.
‘It’s spiffing of you to assist Mrs D like that,’ said Daisy. ‘Think of all the useful things you’ll learn. Now, come along, Hazel.’
She clamped her fingers around my wrist and dragged me towards the front door. Although she looked as cool as anything, I could feel her trembling. I turned and looked back at Miss Alston and Uncle Felix, and saw them still standing together, staring at us. This was suspicious behaviour indeed. They were all I could think about at that moment, but I knew that Daisy had no room in her head for anything but her mother.
We hurried out through the heavy stone front doorway. It had stopped raining for a moment, but I shivered. What I wanted was some lunch – I was terribly jealous of Kitty and Beanie, able to help with it – but this was just between Daisy and me, like old times, and I knew I ought to appreciate it.
Daisy wrinkled her nose and strode out onto the lawn without a pause. The ground was sopping, and my shoes sank into the grass. I tried to go on tiptoe to save them, but it was no good. I soon gave up and slopped after her.
‘I hate Mummy,’ said Daisy, after a while. ‘I know I oughtn’t to, but I hate her. Being sad about Mr Curtis! Saying that he was more important to her than Daddy! She’s horrid. Oh! What a disappointment she is. Perhaps the murderer did do us a favour, getting rid of Mr Curtis. Now perhaps she’ll forget about him, and everything can go back to the way it was.’
‘But he is dead, Daisy,’ I said, stumbling on a particularly slippery hummock of grass.
We passed the maze and went on outwards towards the flooded fields, Fallingford House on its little hill receding behind us. I wished it was so easy to leave it behind for good.
‘So?’ asked Daisy. ‘Perhaps some people oughtn’t to live.’
My fists clenched, and I stopped. ‘Daisy!’ I said. ‘Don’t talk like that! You know it isn’t true. Mr Curtis was horrid, and what he and your mother were doing was awful, but he didn’t deserve to die because of it! You mustn’t say so.’
‘Well, someone thought he did,’ she replied. ‘What a horrible case this is! Everything’s the wrong way round. The only really nasty person is dead. Just our luck, isn’t it?’
At that moment a postage-stamp window flashed open in the house behind us, and a little doll-person stuck its head out and yelled. For one unpleasant moment I thought something else terrible must have happened – but then I heard the words the little person – Kitty – was shouting.
‘Lunch!’ she cried, very small and far away. ‘Come on in!’ and she wiggled her matchstick arms like sema phore. My stomach gave a glad rumble.
‘Bother,’ said Daisy. ‘Meals. Why do they keep coming round to interrupt us? All right – after lunch we’ll have a proper Detective Society meeting to discuss what we have discovered this morning. We’ll have it in the Secret Tree, so that Bertie and Stephen can’t come bothering us again. Are you in, Watson?’
‘Are Kitty and Beanie in?’ I asked. The Secret Tree sounded like outside, and outside, I could feel perfectly well, was still wet.
‘Yes, they’re in too,’ said Daisy, sighing. ‘If you insist. Although they aren’t really necessary. That is to say, they aren’t you.’
‘Oh,’ I said, suddenly feeling quite warm despite the chilly wind blowing through my cardigan.
‘Don’t speak,’ said Daisy. ‘Just shake on it.’
So we did the Detective Society handshake, and then we ran (squelchily) in to lunch.
17
Lunch was lamb, vegetables, creamy mashed potatoes and a wobbly pink blancmange with cherries on top for afters. While we were eating the lamb, Bertie made a joke about murderers, and Chapman dropped his serving platter and had to be helped by Hetty. Uncle Felix and Miss Alston shared yet more suspicious glances, and I thought again how very odd this weekend was turning out to be.
‘All right,’ said Daisy, half an hour later.
The four of us were squashed into the crook of the big oak that stands just outside the walled garden, looking over onto fruit trees that had all of their early blooms shaken off by the storm. A few rotting boards had been knocked together to make a platform and a sort of roof, but they were green-smelling and slimy, and my seat was not at all comfortable. Every time I moved I got more black stains across my knees and arms. The sky was grey, and suspiciously damp-looking, but the rain was holding off for the moment.
‘Order! Order! This meeting of the Detective Society is hereby convened. Beanie, stop wriggling, bother you.’
‘Sorry, Daisy,’ said Beanie. ‘I’ll stop.’
‘This place is fearfully uncomfortable, Daisy,’ said Kitty. ‘Really, do we have to be here?’
‘Yes. From up here we can see anyone coming – do you want the murderer to creep up on us unawares?’
‘I don’t like all this murder,’ said Beanie unhappily. ‘I wish there hadn’t been one.’
‘Well, whether you like it or not, there has been,’ said Daisy, ‘and now it’s up to us to work out who it was.’
‘I know,’ said Beanie. ‘I just don’t like it.’
Daisy rolled her eyes at Kitty, who smirked back. I thought this was rather cruel. After all, there was a bit of me that understood what Beanie meant. I love detecting, but I also love being safe. Daisy has a short memory for bad things. All she can remember from the Deepdean murder is the glory – none of the horrible night-time chasing. Sometimes I ca
n’t get the chasing out of my head.
‘All right,’ she said now. ‘We must now consider the new information we have gathered since our last meeting. What evidence do we have? The missing cup and watch. The scrap of paper from the book. And the forged documents.
‘The missing cup and watch: now, we’ve been over the cup before, but I do wonder more and more why the watch was taken as well.’
‘Because it was pretty and valuable?’ asked Beanie.
‘It’s possible,’ said Daisy. ‘And if it was that, the most likely suspect would be Aunt Saskia. We must check her room to see if the watch is hidden there.
‘But there’s someone else who’s got a better motive to take the watch: Stephen.’
I squashed my lips together, but all the same I couldn’t prevent a small noise coming out.
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘Hazel doesn’t think he did it, of course, but even Hazel can be wrong. Now, Hetty and Mrs D confirmed what we already knew – that Stephen is poor. The watch is quite obviously dreadfully valuable – what if he stole it to pay debts, or something like that?’
‘But how would we check?’ I asked.
‘Quite easily,’ said Daisy. ‘We use you. Go up to Stephen the very next chance you get and find out if he . . . needs money. He likes you, after all. He’ll be honest.’
I wouldn’t do it! I thought. I would not, not even for Daisy. But then I remembered who the other suspects were. If Daisy was willing to suspect her family, then I must be brave enough to rule out her brother’s friend.
I picked at the mould on the board next to me. Under my fingernails it turned quite black and foul. ‘Oh, all right,’ I said at last. ‘I’ll ask him.’
‘Excellent,’ said Daisy. ‘Look, the watch may be a blind. The murderer may just have taken it on a whim, or by mistake. We must consider the other evidence too.
Arsenic For Tea: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery (A Wells and Wong Mystery) Page 11