Jolly Foul Play: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery

by Robin Stevens

  ‘But how can we be sure?’ Kitty persisted. Kitty, as she had at Fallingford, was proving herself a rather smart detective.

  ‘Well,’ said Daisy, scowling. ‘We can’t, yet. We can only guess. We must put it in our plan of action, to prove that the rake was moved deliberately. Now, time of death.’

  ‘Time of death,’ I said, scribbling. ‘I remember hearing Elizabeth shouting at us all to get back into line just before the fireworks, so she must have died during the fireworks display.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Daisy. ‘And of course, it would have been the perfect time – when everything was loud, and we were all looking up and away from the bonfire.’

  ‘That was ten minutes,’ said Lavinia unexpectedly. ‘I was looking at my wristwatch. I got bored. It began at 7.40 and it was over by 7.50. And no, before you ask, I didn’t see anything. I was looking away from the fire too.’

  ‘So were we all!’ said Beanie, wrinkling her forehead. ‘We were all in our form rows, and Miss Barnard and Miss Runcible were in front of us, with Jones. How could any girl have been able to get out of line and hurt Elizabeth without the other members of her form noticing?’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘Not all of us were in rows.’ I looked up to see Daisy nodding.

  ‘Watson is quite right,’ she said to the others. ‘We were all lined up – apart from the Five. They were behind us, next to the fire and the pavilion, and next to Elizabeth. One of them was supposed to be always tending the bonfire, but they were changing over all the time. Anyone not on duty would have had the perfect opportunity to do it.’

  ‘But they were her friends!’ gasped Beanie. ‘That’s dreadful!’

  ‘Not everyone likes their friends as much as you do, Beans,’ said Kitty, nudging her.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Lavinia. ‘I don’t like any of you.’

  ‘Shut it, Lavinia,’ said Kitty.

  ‘They weren’t her friends!’ said Daisy. ‘They all disliked her as much as the rest of us. I’ve been watching – she was dreadful to them, just the way she was to us. She made them do everything she told them to, after all! I can imagine that any one of them might want to murder her.’

  It was exactly what I had been thinking, but hearing it explained that way made me realize, suddenly, how familiar she made them do everything she told them to sounded. I – we – were subject to Daisy’s whims, after all. In Daisy’s mind she is quite different to Elizabeth, and all the things she asks us to do are sensible and good, but is that entirely true? The world is not as black and white as Daisy expects it to be, although she can never see that.

  ‘We saw Margaret and Elizabeth arguing beside the bonfire,’ I said. ‘Perhaps that’s important?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ said Daisy. ‘And all the others, they were behaving oddly as well. They all seemed upset, even before Elizabeth died.’

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘we really think that one of the Five did it?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Daisy. ‘Now we have to discover exactly why, and from that, who.’

  ‘How are we supposed to do that?’ asked Lavinia scornfully. I could tell that she was not quite believing in the Detective Society yet.

  ‘Ooh, we have to hunt for motives, and evidence, and alibis!’ said Beanie eagerly.

  Daisy nodded. ‘Exactly. At school tomorrow we need to gather information from the other girls. Anyone may have seen something important. Remember what we say?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Beanie. ‘Constant vigilance. Oh, hooray!’

  13

  We all climbed into bed, and Lavinia put out the light. I could hear Matron calling for quiet as all the other dorms whispered and guessed and wondered about Elizabeth’s death. The ordinary House noises were amplified – everything really had become strange this evening.

  I listened to the noises in our own dorm too, as Beanie went creeping into Kitty’s bed, and they began to talk together in soft voices. Lavinia was snoring defiantly, to show that she did not care about being left out by them. Daisy was quite silent, and I could tell that she was going over and over the events of the evening. But there was one more thing I wanted to do, and that had nothing to do with Daisy. It was time to read my letter.

  I rolled over onto my stomach and pulled the covers over my head. In the warm, close, blanket-smelling air I could at last unfold my letter. I slipped my little torch from under my pillow, careful not to let any light leak out, and held it as close as I could to the paper. The message on the front was very dull indeed.

  Dear Cousin,

  I hope this finds you well. I am well also. We have eaten semolina pudding all week, and written an essay on the French revolution. Georgina sends her regards. How is Daisy?

  Yours sincerely,

  Alexandra

  But the message on the front was not what I was looking for. I turned the piece of paper over and felt myself smiling. A torch, even a small one, gives out a surprising amount of heat, and on the once-clean back of the letter had appeared a spider of brownish words.

  elloHay, azelHay! oringBay eekway. eWay olvedsay

  It looked like nonsense, but of course I knew the trick of it. It was written in Pig Latin, which is simply English with the first letter of each word moved to its end and the letters ‘ay’ added. Translated, it read:

  Weston School, Monday 4th November

  Hello, Hazel!

  Boring week. We solved the Mystery of the Missing Ferret (it was in Jenkins’s tuck box, quite happy), and Hendricks Minor ate three puddings in a row and was ill. I worked out the answer to the latest puzzle you sent, it’s 42. Have you found anything proper to detect? If not, here’s a puzzle. Sophie’s mother has four children. The first is called April, the second is called May and the third is June. What is the fourth child’s name? George says hello too, he’s the one who came up with that. How is Daisy?

  Alexander

  I read, my heart jumping and my fingers fizzy with excitement – until I reached that last line, and felt a twinge of unhappiness. How is Daisy? I reminded myself that Alexander was a very polite and nice person. It was only natural for him to ask after Daisy as well as me. Alexander and Daisy had met at the same time he and I had, on the Orient Express this past summer. The three of us had worked together to solve a most unpleasant murder – and that is the sort of experience that you do not forget.

  I liked to think of Alexander and his best friend George, the other member of his detective society, the Junior Pinkertons (I had never met George, but I imagined him as looking very much like Alexander, although more bossy), at their school. I saw it like Deepdean, only full of boys instead of girls, eating the same heavy food and running about on the same sort of sports fields as we did. Before I met Alexander, I used to think that boys must be entirely different to girls inside, like another species, but now I see that this is not true.

  I so wanted to tell Alexander about what had just happened, but I remembered Daisy making me swear not to talk about the case. She would be fearfully angry if I disobeyed her, I knew, but I wanted to. Alexander had helped before, and he might be able to help again. I turned the question over and over in my mind, the pen frozen in my hand – and finally, with a guilty leap in my stomach, I made a decision. It had nothing to do with her, who else I was friends with. I could make decisions for myself, I thought, and if I wanted to bring in another detective society, there was nothing she could do to stop me.

  I turned to a new page of this casebook, and took out my secret pen, the one filled with lemon juice. I would write the letter now, and post it very first thing tomorrow.

  Deepdean School, Tuesday 5th November

  Dear Alexander,

  You’ll never guess what happened – or perhaps you will, because I think it really is true what you said once, that mystery follows us around. There’s been another murder at our school. Or at least, someone has died.

  The facts in the case are these. The new Head Girl – the horrid one I’ve told you about – was found after our Bonfire Night fireworks
display near the bonfire, her head bashed in and a rake lying next to her. It looked like an accident – but all the same, we think that it wasn’t an accident at all. The grown-ups are sure that Jones the handyman simply left the rake lying about, and Elizabeth stepped on it by mistake, but we don’t believe that. We think someone hit her on purpose. You see, everyone hated Elizabeth – so anyone at Deepdean would have a motive to kill her.

  But here is the interesting thing: almost none of us, or any of the mistresses, could possibly have done it. All the girls were lined up on the sports field in year order, facing the fireworks, and the mistresses and Jones were standing in front of us, where we could all see them. No one could have moved from their rows without being noticed. The only people – the only girls – who weren’t standing where they could be seen were the five prefects. They were all behind us, near Elizabeth. They were supposed to be stoking the bonfire, and watching us, but any of them could have slipped over to where Elizabeth was (it was quite dark, apart from the light from the bonfire), and killed her. It’s dreadful, because the Five were supposed to be her best friends – but now that Elizabeth is dead, none of them are acting as though they are sad about it at all. In fact, they are all behaving terribly suspiciously.

  Do you see why I think we may have a new mystery to investigate? The other girls in our dorm – Kitty, Beanie and Lavinia – will help me and Daisy, but I wish it would be useful to have the Junior Pinkertons on the case as well. Will you and George help?

  Ask any questions and I will try to answer.

  Hazel

  P.S. It’s Sophie, of course.

  The words faded away as soon as I had put them down, so I could not see what I had written. But despite that, I felt better than I had all evening. Just like that, I had thought my way into the case. Telling it to Alexander had truly made it like one of our logic puzzles. I imagined him frowning as he read, tugging his too-short sleeves down over his wrists, and I could feel myself smiling.

  I clicked off my torch and lay there, my cheek against the paper of Alexander’s message.

  1

  When the wake-up bell went the next morning, I blinked my eyes open and for a moment forgot what had happened the night before. The familiar sick feeling settled in my chest – and then I remembered, and it lifted again, to be replaced by something else. Elizabeth was gone. Elizabeth was dead. And it might be murder.

  We went down to breakfast, and I saw Beanie blush. I could tell that she felt nervous about detecting. Daisy caught her eye, and Beanie went even redder and dropped her gaze.

  At breakfast, of course, whispers about Elizabeth’s death were flying about the room. At first the murmurings were kept under cover as the Five glared about terribly from their places at the heads of each table, trying to regain the control they had lost the night before. I think we were all so used to being quiet and afraid that we could hardly believe that things had changed. But then someone laughed, quite brazenly. We all froze, waiting for the punishment to descend – but nothing happened. There was another laugh, a testing one, and again nothing happened.

  I looked more closely at the Five, and I saw that however they might be trying to hide it, their fear and confusion from yesterday were still there, worse than ever. Florence, at the head of the third-form table, drummed her fingers on the table top. Una was buffing her nails so hard I thought they would wear down to nothing. I could see Margaret pinching her thigh so hard that it surely must leave a bruise, and Enid, although she was head-down over a textbook, never turned a page. Lettice, at the head of our own table, was pale and tense as a string pulled tight, shredding a tiny bit of toast on her plate into smaller and smaller pieces. I never saw her take a bite, and usually, she at least pretends. The Five were changed, and the other girls could feel it. They became bolder and bolder, and the talk rose until it was nearly a roar.

  I looked over at Daisy and caught her eye. She winked, very carefully, and I smiled at her. Across the table, Rose and Jose Pritchett from the other dorm were whispering with Clementine. ‘She’ll never, now! You’re quite safe!’ hissed Clementine. I knew she meant Jose, who had been due to take her punishment from Una this lunch time, for not remembering to fetch Una’s coat for her last week. Una would be too distracted to care now – in a moment, last night’s events had changed the whole school.

  As well as the excitement of seeing the Five lose their power, the prospect of a new case beginning made me tingle brightly all over. As we walked down to school together I felt the same focus I’d had the night before. I could see everything: all the whispering groups, all the glances they cast at the Five. The whole world seemed to be fizzing with nervous energy, and the whole school seemed dizzy, as though today was a secret holiday. Lavinia kicked up leaves into Kitty’s face, and Kitty squealed like a shrimp, wheeling about and dashing a bundle of them into Lavinia’s face (most of them missed, and showered Beanie). I posted my letter, as slyly as I could, and I think I got away with it, for Daisy was watching Kitty, Beanie and Lavinia.

  We stepped through Old Wing entrance and found it ringing with shrieks and laughter. But the excitement came with an edge. Elizabeth was not there to quell us, because Elizabeth was dead. I could tell that everyone was wondering who was responsible this time, and whether danger might be lurking down the next corridor, or even in their own dorm. Miss Lappet came past, and a group of third formers shrank back, and when Miss Runcible came rushing into our form room to take the register, even I felt a moment’s fluttering heart. It was hard to remember that, this time, the mistresses were not our enemies. In this case, none of them could have done it, and none of them had a motive.

  To the grown-ups, Elizabeth had been a good Head Girl. Only we knew the truth. No, this time the murderer was a Big Girl – it was the Five we had to watch.

  2

  In Prayers, Miss Barnard stood up to speak, even though it was not her day for it. ‘Girls,’ she said, and everyone went very still, as though the whole hall had sucked in a breath and was waiting to let it out again. ‘Girls, I am afraid to tell you that following last night’s unfortunate accident, efforts to revive Elizabeth Hurst were unsuccessful. She has passed away. Now, I know you are all very upset by this – please, quiet, girls, let me speak – but I want to reassure you that this was nothing more than a very unfortunate accident, unlike … well. You must not be alarmed. You are all quite safe. A memorial service will be held for Elizabeth in due course, and I must ask that you are sensitive to the feelings of those close to her.’

  Of course, that was an invitation for everyone to look at the Five again. They all stared straight ahead, and Una and Lettice even dabbed their eyes with their handkerchiefs. They were working hard to pretend – to a grown-up they might seem every inch the good prefects they ought to be – but I could see that those eyes were dry, and I could feel quite other emotions bubbling up behind their solemnity, like laughter that they could not quite hold down. Daisy gave a small scornful snort, concealed as a sneeze behind her hand, at their deception, and I nudged her with my shoe.

  ‘Out of respect to Elizabeth, the sports field will be closed until further notice. Now, over the next few days, I expect you to conduct yourselves as good Deepdean girls should,’ Miss Barnard went on. ‘Carry on as you would normally, be obedient to your mistresses and prefects, and help us keep the spirit of Deepdean alive and well. I do not expect to hear idle rumours in the next few days; rest assured that the only person responsible for what happened to Elizabeth will be disciplined immediately, and that no other action will be taken. I hope I have made myself clear.’

  My heart clenched. What did she mean, the only person responsible? That could mean only one man – Jones. I glanced over at Daisy, and saw the wrinkle at the top of her nose. Daisy had thought exactly what I had, and she did not like it either.

  Then the organ, played by Reverend MacLean, rumbled into life, and we all gathered up our hymn books rather haphazardly and began to sing.

  ‘Stop wriggli
ng,’ said Daisy to Beanie. ‘You’ll give us away!’

  ‘But what did Miss Barnard mean?’ whispered Beanie. ‘It wasn’t an accident, it was mur—’

  ‘Shh!’ gasped Daisy. ‘I know! But we’ve been over this – she doesn’t know that. She could never imagine that the Head Girl might be murdered by another pupil.’

  Daisy, as usual, was quite right. It was all part of what I had noticed before – that grown-ups never see the truth of what goes on among us. They have forgotten quite how difficult it is to be young.

  ‘You think … she’s going to blame Jones?’ I asked, the blare of the organ drowning out my voice. ‘Walk upon England’s mountains green, I mean.’

  ‘Humph!’ said Daisy. ‘Just let her! Why – that’s injustice! And the Detective Society does not stand by and allow injustice … laaaaaaamb of God, on England’s— Oh, Elizabeth still manages to poison everything, even from beyond the grave. I – we – simply must work out what happened to her, so we can save Jones.’

  ‘But what if we can’t?’ said Kitty. ‘Miss Barnard’s a grown-up. She can do what she likes – pleasant pastures seeeeeeen.’

  ‘Detectives,’ said Daisy, and her eyes were very blue as she stared at us. ‘This is not an acceptable attitude. Bring me my spear! Hazel and I have solved three murder cases, which is exactly three more than most grown-ups ever manage. We can do anything we put our minds to.’

  ‘Bring me my chariot of fire! I’m only being practical,’ Kitty said.

  ‘So am I,’ said Daisy darkly. ‘Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand! We have to go and speak to Jones immediately. This is crucial!’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘We’re with you! England’s green and pleasant laaaaaaand.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Daisy, and I felt her gaze on me, as though I was a wriggling little animal under a microscope in Science. ‘Are you sure, Hazel?’