Harrington’s body stiffened. His hands opened and closed into fists.
‘It should have been me. I’m the three-time world champion. I’m the one who deserved the Queen’s attention, not a cheat and a liar like O’Malley.’ He was seething now, the anger churning in him like a boiling kettle. ‘Not that … that …namby-pamby.’
The children smiled, knowing Harrington had as good as admitted it was him – and they had recorded every word.
The only one not smiling was Peter.
And it was because of words like that one: namby-pamby.
Words that were thrown at him on the bus and in the playground. Words used as weapons during sport and to turn his friends against him. Words hurled at him, letting him know he was worthless – and he always would be.
And those words had worked.
Until now.
Hearing namby-pamby again, used against someone else, made Peter’s back straighten and his fear fall away. Before Harrington could say anything more, Peter was on his feet. He stepped forward, pointing a finger at the flaming, bloated face of Harrington Hathaway the Third.
‘You’re nothing but a bully. A sad, pathetic rich man who wants nothing more than to be adored, and you do it by making others feel small. Others who can’t stand up for themselves when they should. Mr O’Malley is a good man who is kinder, smarter and more loyal than you’ll ever be.’
Harrington was rigid with anger. He took one small, threatening step towards Peter. ‘Is that so?’ His voice was dangerously low.
Peter recognised in Harrington’s face the same look in his eyes, the same turned-up lip as when Bruiser loomed over him.
But this time the bullying wasn’t going to work.
India and the others moved to Peter’s side.
‘Yes.’ He felt bolstered by them being there. ‘That’s so.’
The air was charged with Harrington’s quiet rage. Then a strange thing happened: he teetered, as if he’d briefly lost his balance, and sank back into his throne, defeated.
‘Okay.’ He rested his forehead in his hand.
‘Okay, you mean you did it?’ Rajish made sure to keep his phone out of sight, in case Harrington ordered him to stop recording.
‘I never meant to hurt anyone; I just wanted to ruin things a bit.’
‘Ruin things a bit?’ Summer exclaimed. ‘You almost ruined several of my brand-new designer dresses!’
‘I think what Summer means,’ India said pointedly, ‘is that people could have been hurt.’
‘Well, of course, there’s that too,’ Summer admitted.
‘To think my dad wanted me to be like you.’ Rajish’s glare was cold.
‘He did?’ It seemed only then that Harrington realised what he’d done.
‘How could you?’ came an unexpected voice from the back of the room.
‘Elwood?’ The colour drained from Harrington’s face when he saw Mr O’Malley at the door.
The butler scurried in behind him. ‘Sorry, sir – he barged in.’
Harrington waved him off. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m with them.’ Mr O’Malley held up his phone. ‘And I heard every word.’
‘Oh.’
‘They’re just kids.’ Mr O’Malley shook his head in disbelief. ‘You did this to them to ruin me?’
‘It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I never meant to …’
All of Harrington’s excuses melted away.
‘When I discovered the Queen needed a new representative for the Bee, I knew there’d be no greater endorsement for my business. I was the champion, but she chose you instead. I thought if I messed things up and made you look incompetent, she’d realise she’d made a mistake and give the position to me.’
‘Instead, the competition is cancelled and no-one wins,’ India said.
Mr O’Malley frowned. ‘All those years ago, you were a superlative speller. You probably would have won.’
‘I had to make sure,’ Harrington said.
‘Why?’ India asked. ‘When you’d already won twice?’
‘My dad was a famous footballer; he’d broken many records. To him, life was all about winning and being the best. I grew up in a house full of his trophies and medals. I wasn’t any good at sport, much to his disappointment, but I was determined to make him proud. When I heard about the Spelling Bee, I knew that was how I could do it.’
Harrington smiled. ‘It took a lot of hard work – I practised every chance I got – and I won two international finals. But that had been done before. I needed to win one more to set a new record and truly make him proud. Then I came up against Elwood. He was a natural and had a knack for spelling words I’d never seen before. He’d won the national, it’s true, but I had to make sure he wouldn’t win the international bee.’
‘So you planted the cards in his room?’ Rajish realised part of him hoped it wouldn’t be true.
‘Not me, of course. I couldn’t be caught. Not the son of the great Harold Hathaway the Second.’ Harrington laughed a sad, ironic laugh. ‘It’s surprising how easily some people will be bought off.’
India had heard enough. ‘We have to tell Esmerelda so she can clear your name, Mr O’Malley.’ She turned away until she remembered one last thing. ‘Oh, and by the way, Mr Hathaway, there’s no such word as encountenance.’
They hurried from the room, leaving Harrington hunched over in his throne, in his very large mansion, surrounded by his trophies and medals.
They scrambled into the limousine and Rajish immediately sent the recording he’d made. ‘Once Esmerelda hears this, she’ll have to let the Bee continue.’
‘Thank you,’ Mr O’Malley said, teary-eyed. ‘All of you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ India looked quite pleased with herself. ‘It was time everyone knew the truth.’
‘And put a stop to Harrington’s bullying!’ Holly nudged Peter. ‘Which you did superbly.’
The crested gecko climbed out of Peter’s pocket and leapt into his hands.
India laughed. ‘Prince Harry thinks so too.’
‘You really stood up to him.’ Rajish patted Peter on the back.
‘And with style.’ Summer sat opposite, her arms folded, nodding in admiration. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘Neither did I,’ Peter confessed with a laugh; his heart hadn’t quite settled since he’d left Harington’s mansion.
‘We were like the three musketeers,’ Holly said. ‘Except there are five of us … and we’re not musketeers.’
Rajish held out his hand. ‘All for one!’
The others stacked their hands on top of his, one after the other. ‘And one for all!’
Peter held Prince Harry in the air until the gecko bounded onto the pile of hands. ‘Sorry,’ Holly apologised. ‘The six musketeers.’
‘Now that we’ve dealt with Mr O’Malley’s nemesis,’ Summer said, ‘let’s make sure this Spelling Bee goes ahead. I’ve bought a dress especially for the finals, and the whole trip’s going to be a disaster if I don’t get to wear it.’
‘I think you mean we’ve worked so hard to be here that it would be a shame not to compete,’ India suggested.
Summer flicked her blonde locks over her shoulder and wore an imperturbable smile. ‘That too.’
When they arrived at the Royal Windsor Hotel, Esmerelda was waiting for them, her face a sickly shade of grey. She’d been pacing the foyer, her clipboard gripped to her chest as if it were a life raft.
‘Mr O’Malley,’ she said with a quiver in her voice. ‘I’ve spoken to Reko and listened to the recording of Harrington’s confession. I am truly sorry and would like to invite you back as the Queen’s representative.’
‘It would be my absolute pleasure,’ Mr O’Malley said, before nervously adding, ‘And the Queen?’
‘She knows everything and is more than relieved to welcome you back.’
A bright glow seemed to fill his whole body. ‘As am I.’
‘What will
happen to Harrington?’ India asked.
The icy expression on Esmerelda’s face said it all. ‘He is being dealt with.’
‘And the Grand Final?’ Peter was almost too scared to ask.
‘Will be going ahead tomorrow.’ There was a note of relief in Esmerelda’s voice, followed quickly by her usual no-nonsense tone. ‘Which means we have a lot of work to do. Ready, Mr O’Malley?’
Even though his clothes were crumpled and his hair a curly, unkempt mess, Mr O’Malley somehow resumed a regal air. ‘Ready, Ms Stomp.’
The two headed for the elevators, locked in deep discussion, when a frantic cry tore through the hotel.
‘Where is she?’ Mrs Trifle burst into the foyer like a tornado. ‘She must be here somewhere.’ Her eyes searched wildly until they eventually landed on her daughter. ‘There you are.’ She strode towards her in a tight-fitting pink shirt with Beaut Butts and Guts emblazoned in diamantes across her chest. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Holly wasn’t sure where to start, ‘but we have some great news.’
Mrs Trifle continued as if Holly hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ve been looking for you for over an hour.’
‘I know you must have been worried but –’
‘Worried? Of course I was – worried you were ruining a life-changing opportunity that I’d created! We had an important interview set up with the BBC to talk about our emporium –’
‘And about Holly,’ Mr Trifle said, finally catching up to his wife.
‘But now it’s not going to happen, because you were nowhere to be found and we’ve missed our chance.’
‘Sorry, but we had to do something very important, which means the Grand Final is going ahead!’
‘It was the BBC!’ Her mother simply wasn’t listening.
‘I’m sorry.’ Holly cowered before her mother’s beet-red face.
Peter’s heart quickened. It was the third time Holly had said sorry, but this didn’t seem to do anything to calm Mrs Trifle. It seemed to make her even angrier.
Prince Harry poked his nose out of Peter’s jacket. He’d been woken by the pounding of Peter’s heart, but he was also hungry, and there was a smell – something delicious and beefy.
And it was coming from Mr Trifle’s pocket.
Before Peter knew what was happening, Prince Harry leapt onto the floor. He scooted across the lush carpet and sprang onto Mr Trifle’s bright blue trainers before disappearing up the hem of his trousers.
‘Prince Harry!’ Peter cried.
‘What!’ Mr Trifle jiggled and jogged on the spot, not sure why he had the sudden sensation of something crawling up his leg. He tried to shake it out but the something only crawled higher. ‘Aaah!’
‘Dad?’ Holly tried to help, but he was flailing his arms and wobbling his hips.
‘What’s wrong?’ Mrs Trifle took a wary step back.
Mr Trifle twirled like a dog chasing his tail. He wriggled and shook, but nothing helped. ‘There’s something … a creature … I can feel it … It might be a spider or a snake …’ he realised with horror. ‘It might be poisonous.’
Mr Trifle did the only thing he thought would save him, something Holly was sure she would never fully recover from.
He undid the zipper on his trousers, dropped his pants and tossed them aside as if they were infested with spiders.
The entire foyer stared aghast as he stood in his underpants, brushing down his legs, before realising the culprit seemed to be inside his shirt. He was twisting and turning, spinning around frantically, desperate to rid himself of this beast, when he slammed headfirst into a marble pillar.
He clutched his forehead, dazed and confused.
Mrs Trifle ran to his aid. ‘Terry! Are you hurt? Should we call the ambulance?’
That’s when Mrs Trifle spotted the beady eyes of a bright yellow lizard perched on her husband’s shoulder, only centimetres from her face, chewing happily on a piece of Beaut Butts and Guts Protein-packed Jerky.
Her scream rose into the ceiling and echoed through the hotel. She turned to run but her shoe caught on the carpet, and she fell to the floor with a great arm-waving thud!
‘My ankle!’ Mrs Trifle clutched her leg. ‘I think I’ve broken my ankle.’
Prince Harry vaulted from Mr Trifle’s shirt onto the floor and dashed back to Peter, who quickly scooped him up.
Mr Trifle, still a little discombobulated, made a shaky attempt to kneel beside his wife. ‘Darling? Are you okay?’
‘No!’ she shouted. ‘I most certainly am not okay.’
Peter inspected his lizard to make sure he wasn’t injured by all that jolting and twisting.
Mrs Trifle spotted them both. ‘You!’ She shot Peter a deadly stare. ‘You brought vermin to a spelling bee?’
‘He’s not vermin,’ Peter explained. ‘He’s a crested gecko and he –’
‘I don’t care what it is.’ Mrs Trifle pushed herself upright. ‘He could be diseased or carrying germs or –’
‘Not Prince Harry,’ Peter interrupted. ‘Crested geckos are very clean.’
The hotel staff appeared by Mrs Trifle’s side and lifted her carefully into a wheelchair.
‘Take me to my room,’ she ordered before shooting one last look of disdain at Peter.
Peter tried to follow. ‘Prince Harry didn’t mean it. He’s normally very calm, but beef jerky drives him crazy.’
‘Stay away from me,’ Mrs Trifle snarled over her shoulder as she was wheeled away.
Mr Trifle’s vision was still a little blurry from the blow to his head. He fished around the floor for his trousers and followed after his wife.
‘I’m sorry,’ Peter said to Holly.
‘It’s not your fault. The jerky is pretty popular.’ The two shared a brief smile.
‘Molly!’ Mrs Trifle bellowed from the open elevator door, a bitter scowl seared across her lips.
‘I’d better go.’ Holly ran towards her mother and slipped inside the elevator just before the doors slid shut.
After the hotel staff had gently lifted Mrs Trifle onto the lounge and the in-house nurse had seen to her ankle and offered Mr Trifle an icepack for his forehead, the Trifles were left to themselves.
Mrs Trifle was in a fit of high dudgeon. She was madder than Holly had ever seen. Her ankle was bandaged, but despite the nurse confirming it was not broken, Mrs Trifle insisted she was in utter agony.
‘Who brings a rodent to a spelling bee?’
‘It’s not a rodent,’ Holly corrected her. ‘It’s a crested gecko.’
‘I don’t care what it is! It could have killed me.’
Mr Trifle held the icepack against his head with one hand and lightly touched his daughter’s arm with the other. He’d seen his wife in this state before, and he knew it’d be better for all of them if they stayed quiet and let her have her say.
‘And the boy didn’t even apologise.’
‘He did,’ Holly insisted. ‘Maybe you couldn’t hear him over your screaming.’
Holly didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, but the look on her mother’s face told her otherwise.
‘I beg your pardon.’
Holly shrank. ‘Peter is a nice person –’
‘Who happens to keep deadly vermin in his pockets.’
‘That’s not true,’ Holly said louder than she’d intended.
Mrs Trifle fixed her daughter with a resolute eye. ‘You are not to go anywhere near that boy again.’
Holly couldn’t help herself; she had to say something. Peter was one of the kindest people she’d ever met. ‘But he’s my friend.’
‘Not anymore. Not after what he did to me. And your father,’ she added, almost as an afterthought. She snapped the blanket up to her chin. ‘Besides,’ and it was here her mother said something truly mean, ‘you might catch what he has.’
Holly’s back straightened. ‘What might I catch?’
‘You know.’ Her mother waved her hand as if it was perfectly obvious.
&nbs
p; Mr Trifle again reached for his daughter’s arm in warning, but she stepped out of his reach. ‘No, Mother, I don’t know.’
Mrs Trifle sighed, exasperated. She whispered as if she was worried she may catch the very same thing if she said it too loudly. ‘Being overweight.’
There were many times in Holly’s life when her mother’s words left her speechless. This time, however, Holly knew exactly what to say. ‘How people look has nothing to do with who they are inside.’
Mrs Trifle recognised Nanna Flo’s words. ‘So you’ll listen to that old battle-axe but not to me?’
‘Nanna Flo happens to be a very wise person.’
‘I’m your mother, and I’m only trying to protect you.’
‘No, you’re not!’ Holly could feel a rage inside her that she had never felt before. ‘You’ve never cared one bit about me, from the moment you brought me home from hospital.’
In all Mrs Trifle’s life, her daughter had never – not once – disagreed with her, and yet here she was doing just that.
Mrs Trifle’s cheeks drew in, her lips pursed and her eyes hardened like two black marbles. ‘I’ve worked my whole life to give you what you have, and this is the thanks I get. I’m lying here, my leg broken, and you have the nerve to break my heart as well.’ Her mother began to whimper. ‘Terry!’ she cried. ‘Tell her to stop being so cruel.’
Mrs Trifle turned back to her daughter with actual fake tears in her eyes.
Holly felt her whole body wither under her mother’s gaze. She knew what was going to happen, what always happened. To keep the peace, her father would say her mother was right and how Holly should be more respectful. And Holly would half-listen, her mind wandering to what her real family was doing …
But that wasn’t what happened at all.
‘Holly’s right.’ Mr Trifle took the icepack from his bruised head.
Holly spun round and stared at her father, wondering if she’d wanted so badly for him to take her side for once that she’d made it up. But the look on Mrs Trifle’s face told Holly it really did happen.
‘What?’ Mrs Trifle’s bright red lipstick sneer and teary mascara streaks made her look like a spooky, deranged clown.
‘I said, “Holly’s right”,’ he repeated with more confidence. ‘Nanna Flo’s right too. Being over weight isn’t contagious, and Peter is a nice boy. If you ask me, Holly is very lucky to have him as her friend.’
The Most Marvellous Spelling Bee Mystery Page 14