The Most Marvellous Spelling Bee Mystery

by Deborah Abela

  Mrs Trifle eyed them both; she wasn’t about to give up. ‘Now you listen here –’

  ‘No,’ Mr Trifle interrupted, which shocked him almost as much as it did Mrs Trifle, who stared at him open-mouthed. ‘I’ve had enough of listening. The Grand Final of the Most Marvellous International Spelling Bee is tomorrow, thanks to Holly and her friends, and I am going to be there for my daughter, who has a good chance of winning, which you’d know if you’d bothered to turn up to the first round.’

  Mrs Trifle flung her hands in the air in a mix of fury and agitation. ‘So now I’m a bad parent?’

  ‘No,’ Mr Trifle said carefully. ‘I think we’ve been too focussed on the business, when our daughter is a real champion.’

  Mrs Trifle’s jaw hardened. ‘Providing for our family is focussing on the wrong thing?’

  ‘That’s not what I –’

  ‘I’ve flown to London, taken time away from the business and been separated from my children, all for some spelling thingy, and yet I’m the one focussed on the wrong things?’

  It didn’t seem to occur to her that she hadn’t been separated from all her children.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ No matter how hard Mr Trifle tried to explain himself, Mrs Trifle always made him sound so wrong.

  ‘If that’s the case, then I’m wasting my time here.’ She reached for the phone on the table beside her. ‘Reception. Send a porter to my room and order me a cab.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’ Even though her mother hadn’t been very nice, and was even at times quite mean, Holly didn’t want her to leave.

  Mrs Trifle stood from the lounge, her foot suddenly not so broken, and limped to the room. ‘I know when I’m not wanted.’

  Outside the hotel, Mr Trifle and Holly stood by the cab as Mrs Trifle was helped inside.

  ‘Please stay,’ Holly quietly pleaded.

  Mrs Trifle stared straight ahead. The only thing she said was, ‘Let’s go, driver.’ The car pulled away from the hotel. Holly felt the sting of watching her mother leave, realising how much she wanted her to be there, until her dad slipped his hand into hers.

  ‘We’ll do this together, eh? You and I.’

  But Holly couldn’t answer. Her eyes stung with tears and her throat ached. She hoped the cab would stop and mother would hobble out. She’d say sorry and they’d hug, but instead it drifted away in a sea of traffic until it finally disappeared.

  ‘Mr Elwood O’Malley, I officially reinstate you as the Queen’s representative for the Most Marvellous International Spelling Bee.’

  In a small room of the Royal Windsor Hotel, a private ceremony was taking place. A woman with grey curls and wearing a trench coat offered Mr O’Malley her hand.

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty. It is with great delight and humility that I accept.’

  ‘Oh thank goodness,’ the Queen chuckled. ‘I was so hoping you’d say that.’

  The Wimples, Kapoors, Erikssons, Summer, Mr Trifle and Holly applauded.

  Esmerelda Stomp actually cracked a smile. At least that’s what it looked like to India, but it may have been indigestion. ‘Welcome back, Mr O’Malley.’

  ‘Thank you, Ms Stomp.’

  ‘Harrington Hathaway has been stripped of his awards for his dishonest ways,’ the Queen continued, ‘and for potentially damaging the fine reputation of the Spelling Bee. He has been handed over to the police for questioning, but most importantly,’ the Queen stepped forward, holding Mr O’Malley’s gaze – even in a trench coat, she wore her royal poise with panache – ‘you are officially exonerated of all alleged past indiscretions.’

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am.’ Mr O’Malley could barely speak, his words choked up with emotion. ‘That means the world to me.’

  Mr O’Malley pulled his hanky from his pocket and dabbed his eyes.

  Summer leaned into India and whispered. ‘Is he crying again?’

  India couldn’t answer because she was crying too. Summer looked around in surprise to find they were all crying.

  ‘I’m awfully sorry about removing you from your position.’ The Queen winced slightly. ‘I’m afraid I had no choice when the safety of the Bee was at risk.’ She scowled. ‘I did smell a rat though, which, thanks to these children, was rooted out into the open.’

  ‘May I be so bold as to ask,’ Mr O’Malley began. ‘Harrington was a three-time world spelling champion – why did you hire me instead of him?’

  The Queen thought for a moment. ‘I have met many people over the years, Mr O’Malley, and quite a few of them say what they think a Queen wants to hear, but you are genuine. I knew about the accusations of cheating, of course, but I had a hunch there was something fishy about them. I also hold dear to what my beloved papa, King George VI, taught me about how everyone deserves a second chance. Plus, that Harrington is all hat and no horse.’

  Mr O’Malley frowned. ‘Sorry, Ma’am?’

  ‘It’s an expression meaning somebody who has accomplished less than appearances would have you believe, and so they acquire something that makes them appear successful. Back in the Wild West, that could have been a big hat. Whereas you, Mr O’Malley, are a true and honest person, who I am lucky to call my friend.’

  The Queen, against all queenly rules and regulations, reached out and gave him a hug.

  It took all of Mr O’Malley’s strength not to squeal with glee. As he hugged Her Majesty, the young spellers gave him a unanimous thumbs up.

  ‘Now for you children I have something special.’

  Two royal staff members, who’d been standing at attention by the door, stepped forward, looking very un-royal in their jeans, flannelette shirts and baseball caps. One held a small velvet-lined wooden box, which the other opened to retrieve brass medals strung with royal blue ribbon.

  The Queen hung them around the neck of each speller. ‘I am awarding you all the Royal Medal of Honour for your work in defending and upholding goodness and decency within the community.’ She placed the last of the medals around Peter’s neck. ‘And for dealing so expertly with a thorough bully.’

  Peter stared at the medal. It sparkled in his fingers. He caught a glimpse of Grandpop Eriksson’s tear-stained face. He was standing beside Nanna Flo, who was just as teary, and offered him a tissue from her bag.

  ‘Your Majesty.’ Dad nervously stepped forward and offered an awkward bow. ‘Would you mind if I took a photo and wrote an article about what has happened?’

  ‘I would like that immensely. That way the whole world can read about these intrepid children and my loyal friend, Mr Elwood O’Malley.’

  The Queen, Mr O’Malley and the spellers posed with broad, beaming smiles.

  ‘I had better be off.’ The Queen took a moustache from her pocket, pressed it above her lips and donned a Sherlock Holmes-style cap.

  ‘Nice disguise, Your Majesty,’ Boo said.

  ‘It’s one of my favourites.’

  ‘You have more than one?’

  ‘Of course, there have been many occasions when I’ve needed to be incognito.’ She winked. ‘Good luck for the Grand Final, everyone. I will be at home watching with my feet up, wishing all of you the very best.’

  The two royal staffers checked that the corridor was clear before standing aside and bowing as the Queen slipped away.

  It was fair to say that India didn’t sleep much that night. Not after everything that had happened.

  Dad also didn’t get much sleep. Mr O’Malley loaned him his computer so he could work on the story. India had told him the whole saga of uncovering Harrington’s underhanded, unscrupulous and conniving behaviour.

  Dad was typing well into the next morning, while the rest of the Wimples had breakfast and were carrying out some last-minute spelling practice, huddling close and speaking in hushed tones so he wouldn’t be disturbed.

  Mum whispered, ‘Ingenious India, Brave Boo and their friends foiled a plan so dastardly …’

  ‘D-a-s-t-a-r-d-l-y,’ India whispered back.

  ‘… th
at even the most conscientious …’

  ‘C-o-n-s-c-i-e-n-t-i-o-u-s.’

  ‘… of the Queen’s staff could not see them apprehended.’

  ‘A-p-p-r-e-h-e-n-d-e-d.’

  ‘It took wit, bravery and unflinching audaciousness …’

  ‘A-u-d-a-c-i-o-u-s-n-e-s-s.’

  ‘… to even contemplate.’

  ‘C-o-n-t-e-m-p-l-a-t-e.’

  ‘But she did it,’ Mum concluded. ‘Ingenious India proved braver than she ever thought she could be. She was simply extraordinary.’

  ‘E-x-t-r-a-o-r-d-i-n-a-r-y.’

  Boo threw his hands in the air and whispered, ‘Another perfect score!’

  ‘Of course,’ Nanna Flo spoke softly. ‘What else did you expect?’

  ‘I mean it, you know.’ Mum cradled India’s cheeks in her hands. ‘You’re as brave as any person I know.’

  ‘Don’t forget ingenious,’ Boo pointed out. ‘You uncovered a mystery that had been unsolved for decades.’

  ‘And that no-good snake in the grass Harrington finally got what was coming to him.’ Nanna Flo rolled up her sleeves. ‘If I had my way I’d dunk him in –’

  The bedroom door flew open. ‘It’s finished!’ Dad’s eyes were wide and his hair stuck out in all directions. ‘Would you like to read it?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ India pushed away her breakfast things and Dad gently placed the laptop on the table. As she read the story aloud, Nanna Flo, Boo and Mum hung on every word, while Dad paced nervously in the background.

  It had everything India wanted in a story: vivid details, clever twists and interesting characters with big hearts, and it kept her fascinated until the very end.

  When she finished, no-one spoke. Dad stopped pacing and shoved his hands through his hair, which explained why it looked so wild. ‘What do you think? Is it good enough to be published?’

  ‘It’s brilliant!’ India hugged her clever, dishevelled dad.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘It’s one of your best,’ Boo said.

  ‘I love it,’ Mum insisted.

  ‘Anyone who doesn’t want to publish this needs a new brain.’ Nanna Flo slammed the table. ‘Cause the one they’ve got obviously isn’t working.’

  ‘Thanks, everyone,’ Dad said. He leaned over the computer, held his finger above the keyboard and pressed send.

  Mum sprang to her feet. ‘Wimples, it’s time for showers and sprucing up so we can escort India to her moment of triumph!’

  The Heritage Ballroom of the Royal Windsor Hotel was abuzz with nervous parents and spellers. Some were giving last-minute tips while others were offering all sorts of rewards if their child won: ponies, cruises, even a ride in a spaceship.

  The Wimples stood in the middle of it all, in that huddling penguin way, with their red scarves snug around their necks.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Dad wore a special baby-blue suit and purple bow tie that Mrs Webster had given him for building a cubby for her pig, Wilbur. She had thrown in a bright orange shirt that really completed the look.

  ‘I feel fine,’ India said, and she meant it. The old India would have felt anxious at the idea of standing on an international stage in front of the whole world, but she wasn’t only ready, she couldn’t wait for it to start.

  ‘Have you got your lucky hanky?’ Nanna Flo asked.

  India tapped her pocket. ‘Right here.’

  She was wearing her white chiffon dress with three pearl buttons down the front, made by Gracie Hubbard and Mrs O’Donnell, with the pocket made especially for Nanna Flo’s lucky hanky.

  ‘Not that you need it.’ Nanna waved a hand dismissively. ‘You’re as smart as a whip, or you can dip me in porridge.’

  ‘Good luck hug?’ Boo asked.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Boo squeezed her tight. ‘You’ll be great, Sis. I know it.’

  ‘We’ll be here if you need us.’ Dad tugged at his bow tie as if it was suddenly too tight.

  ‘Not that you will.’ Mum flashed a broad, confident smile. ‘Not our Ingenious India.’

  Mum and Dad swooped in for a final hug before making their way to their seats. India stood back and let the excitement of the ballroom swirl around her. The lights sparkled, the cameras were ready – this was it. The Most Marvellous International Spelling Bee Grand Final was about to begin.

  She searched the room for her friends and spotted Mr and Mrs Kapoor with Rajish.

  ‘It’s important not to panic,’ Mr Kapoor said, his voice quivering with panic.

  ‘And think of your father,’ Mrs Kapoor said, taking her husband’s hand, ‘who will be panicking enough for all of us.’

  ‘I find taking a deep breath helps,’ Rajish told his dad.

  Mr Kapoor took a deep breath. It helped a little.

  Mrs Kapoor wrapped her son in the perfumed swirling folds of her sari. ‘Win or lose, we are proud of you.’

  ‘Extremely proud.’ Mr Kapoor held a finger in the air. ‘I am only speaking the truth!’

  He couldn’t hold back and gave his son another hug. Rajish worried his dad wasn’t going to let go, until his mum gently drew his arms away. ‘He needs to join the others.’

  ‘Of course. Good luck, son.’

  As they made their way into the audience towards a waving Mr Wimple, Rajish joined India.

  ‘Got away?’ India raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Just. I wasn’t sure I’d make it.’

  They looked up at the stage. Against the backdrop of rich blue theatre curtains, Fozdrake’s podium was in place, along with neat rows of chairs that were beginning to fill with jittery spellers. ‘All set, Rajish Kapoor?’

  ‘Ready when you are, India Wimple.’

  As they climbed the stairs to the stage, in the audience below, a man with slick-backed hair and in an elegant suit stood alongside a woman in a long silk gown. She was fastening a diamond and ruby bracelet around a young girl’s wrist.

  ‘I love it!’ Summer held her hand up. The light from the jewels sparkled on her face. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have missed it.’

  Both parents hugged their daughter one last time before they, too, moved into the audience. Summer threw her head back and climbed the stage stairs like an actress about to receive a major award.

  ‘Your parents came,’ India said as Summer sat beside her.

  ‘They cancelled a very important meeting to be here, and after this we’re going skiing in Austria.’

  Summer was trying to be all grace and poise, when, in a very un-Summer-like way, she squealed.

  ‘Was it about a case?’ Rajish asked conspiratorially.

  ‘A case?’ Summer frowned.

  ‘The meeting they cancelled. Was it about a case?’

  ‘Oh, my parents aren’t barristers – I just said that to make Reko talk.’

  ‘But how did you know all that legal stuff?’

  ‘I watch a lot of detective shows.’ She shrugged. ‘And you may not have noticed but I am exceptionally smart.’

  Rajish sat back and laughed. ‘And modest.’

  ‘Of course,’ Summer said with a boastful smile.

  Not far away, another nervous parent was saying goodbye and good luck to their child.

  ‘I’ve messed up quite a bit, haven’t I?’ Mr Trifle said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Holly asked.

  ‘This Spelling Bee is a really big deal for you, and I never realised it.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Holly shook her head and frowned.

  ‘It does matter.’ He sighed. ‘When I was little, my dad blew most of our money at the racetrack. Every time he placed a bet, he thought, This is it! I’m going to give my family everything they want. But each time he’d lose, Mum would have to figure out how to feed us and pay the rent. There were times I went to bed so hungry that my stomach ached, and I promised myself that my kids would never feel that way. I thought that’d make me a great dad, but I haven’t been so good, have I?’

 
; ‘You’re here with me now, and I’d say that makes you a great dad,’ Holly said, and she meant it.

  ‘I promise, from now on I’ll be better – starting with cheering for my daughter so the world can know how brilliant she is.’

  And there it was – what Holly had been waiting for her whole life. Her dad was proud and thought she was brilliant. It was only then she realised how much she’d wanted to hear it.

  ‘Have fun out there.’ Holly’s dad held her tight. ‘You’re going to be amazing.’

  Holly nestled in his hug for as long as she could before Mr Trifle left to join the others in the crowd. She felt braver, stronger, knowing he was on her side, and she skipped up the steps to take her place in the Grand Final.

  Close by, Mr Eriksson held his grandson by the shoulders. He wore a brand-new shirt and tie, and Peter thought he seemed taller. ‘You’re about to line up with the best spellers in the world, and you deserve to be here as much as any one of them.’

  ‘Thanks, Grandpop.’ Peter seemed distracted.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yep.’ Peter nodded, knowing it wasn’t quite true. ‘Thanks for being here, Grandpop.’

  ‘I should be the one thanking you. If you hadn’t invited me, I’d be at home doing the cross word and having my life revolve around the morning paper and the evening news. And instead I’m here, about to watch my grandson take on the world. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’ He nodded towards the stage. ‘Your friends are waiting for you.’

  Peter turned to see the others waving him over. A small shiver of happiness ran through his body and helped shake off the worst of his fears. They made space for him as he joined their feverish huddle.

  ‘This is it, musketeers,’ Holly said. ‘The big moment has finally arrived.’

  ‘Thanks to a lot of cleverness from us,’ Summer reminded her.

  ‘There’s that humility again,’ Rajish joked.

  ‘Just saying it like it is.’ Summer shrugged.

  They all laughed except for Peter, who stared into the distance, his hands clenched in his lap.