‘That girl,’ I heard Mrs Rivers say behind us, ‘looks familiar. Wells – related to the Fallingford affair, I presume? How is she …?’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ cried Daisy, once we were out of earshot. ‘Why won’t people stop talking about … well, never mind that. What did we learn?’
‘Mrs Turnbull is definitely missing,’ I said.
‘Indeed! She was allegedly at a concert in London last night – not hard to prove – so why is Mr Turnbull so twitchy? Oh, I’d like to see that telegram, to see whether it’s real, or only made up by Mr Turnbull! D’you think we ought to go into the Majestic? It’s that hotel further up the Parade. It’s awfully grand.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said cautiously.
‘Well, never mind that at the moment. All right, so we know that Artemis Turnbull is still unaccounted for. Anything else?’
‘We know she used to go to Deepdean,’ I said, ‘along with Miss Barnard and Mrs Rivers!’
‘Ugh! Yes. But that can hardly be useful, Hazel. After all, Old Deepdeanites are two a penny this weekend. Every other mama used to be a girl here. The more interesting thing is finding anyone who didn’t go here.
‘Anyway, Hazel, Mr Turnbull is a most intriguing suspect. He seems rather cross with his wife, doesn’t he? Oh, I wish we could be flies on the wall at the gala dinner tonight to see if Mrs Turnbull really does make an entrance and, if not, how Mr Turnbull behaves! If only we were Big Girls, so we could be there! It’s so unfair that we’re excluded …’
‘What are you planning?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘Nothing!’ said Daisy, and turned away.
7
‘People are such bothers!’ Daisy hissed as we walked through Deepdean Park, in between the flower beds and the small children playing with their nannies. We were on the hunt for Mr Stone and Jennifer, but they were proving elusive. The first-form shrimp Emily Dow trailed past us with her parents, powerfully built Mr Dow holding forth on his own school memories while Emily and her round, mousy mother cringed behind him.
‘Why won’t our suspects arrange themselves neatly in a single area so we can observe them easily!’ complained Daisy.
‘They will tonight,’ I pointed out.
‘Yes,’ said Daisy, her eyes going misty for a moment. ‘About that, Hazel. I think—’
I caught her arm and squeezed it.
‘What?’ asked Daisy. ‘Is it Mr Stone? Oh!’
It was not Mr Stone – but it was something else quite concerning.
Mr and Mrs Freebody were sitting on a bench at the edge of the park. She was weeping, her handkerchief pressed to her eyes. He was trying to comfort her, but as we watched she pulled away from him angrily.
‘What shall we do?’ I gasped. It felt sacrilegious to watch them, but of course Daisy was not worried about that.
‘Circle round and listen in!’ she said at once. ‘They don’t appear to have seen us yet. We must get behind them, creep up and find out what they are saying.’
‘But we can’t!’ I said. ‘What if we find out something dreadful?’
‘Then Kitty ought to know,’ said Daisy callously. ‘I’d want to, if they were my parents.’
I bit back my reply.
We circled through the park, trying to move casually enough not to be noticeable, and as soon as we were out of Mr and Mrs Freebody’s line of sight we dashed towards their bench. There was a useful tree a few paces away from it, and we leaned against it, our faces turned away, and tried to look as though we were not listening in.
Mr and Mrs Freebody were still talking. They were using hushed voices, but we could catch a few words – and what we heard gave me a distinctly grubby feeling.
‘I don’t know what to do!’ Mrs Freebody was saying, between sniffles. ‘I was hoping we could tell them today, but just look at them both – they already don’t want to be near us!’
‘Now, you’re being over-emotional,’ said Mr Freebody.
‘Don’t call me over-emotional!’ snapped Mrs Freebody, and she began to sob harder. ‘Oh dear, they’ll be so cross – especially Binny. What if they grow up with abandonment issues?’
‘We’ve already sent them to boarding school, darling. I hardly think this will be much worse.’
‘But what if it is? What if they resent us? Oh, I can’t bear it! We should never have—’
Mr Freebody pulled her into an embrace, and I decided that I did not want to listen to any more. ‘Come ON, Daisy!’ I said. ‘We shouldn’t be here!’
‘But this is important, Hazel! It may be the key—’
‘It isn’t the key to anything! They’re just …’ I could not work out what on earth Mr and Mrs Freebody were talking about, so I let the sentence drop. ‘Come on, we’ve got to look for Mr Stone!’
‘Well,’ said Daisy, sighing, ‘there is one thing I do know. Marriage causes far too many emotions. This is why I shall never marry. You should be careful, Hazel.’
‘I’m not going to marry Alexander!’ I said. ‘He doesn’t think of me that way.’
‘Did I say anything about Alexander?’ asked Daisy, poking me cheekily. ‘No! Then why would you say—’
‘Stop it, Daisy!’ I said, elbowing her, and Daisy smirked and went quiet.
8
We finally caught up with Mr Stone by the entrance to the Majestic, in the middle of a quiet but fierce argument with Jennifer – one that made our ears perk up. We ducked behind the nearest pillar and listened.
‘Daddy, what did I say after the last time!’ Jennifer was hissing. ‘You’re far too old! It’s shameful! And Mummy’s only been dead for three years! Why can’t you just be a widower like ordinary fathers?’
‘I’m hardly … Jenny, really … now, see here, I have every right to marry again – and what about you, by the way? I heard about the chocolates from your admirer. We’ll discuss that later.’
‘DADDY!’ shrieked Jennifer.
I remembered Daisy’s diversion from the day before, and flinched. But what was this about Mr Stone getting married? Ought there to have been a woman here with him this weekend after all?
I was desperate to hear what he would say next, but then Mr Stone, his cigarette halfway to his mouth, paused so suddenly that I thought we had been compromised. But it was another pair of girls who had startled them – Beanie and Lavinia. They trotted up to the front of the Majestic, and Mr Stone and Jennifer walked away towards Deepdean Park, still muttering at each other angrily.
Daisy hissed through her teeth. ‘Amateurs!’ she muttered. ‘Schoolgirls!’
‘We’re schoolgirls,’ I pointed out, though I was disappointed as well.
‘We are so much more, these days!’ said Daisy. ‘Don’t you feel we’ve moved on, Hazel?’
I did not say anything.
‘Oh, there you are!’ said Beanie. ‘We’ve got lots to tell you!’
Daisy glared at them. ‘Can’t you see we were watching some suspects? You’ve scared them off. Look!’
‘Well, they’re gone now,’ said Lavinia, shrugging. ‘D’you want to hear what we’ve found? Kitty’s holding off Binny, by the way. She’s trapped her in the sweet shop.’
‘Oh, go on, then,’ said Daisy ungraciously, ‘now you’re here.’
‘We got stuck behind the Thompson-Bateses on the Parade at first,’ said Beanie. ‘So we didn’t exactly hear anything important about the case, but we did hear something important about Lavinia’s match this afternoon. Mr Thompson-Bates was being horrible to Lallie about … about … what was it, Lavinia?’
‘Her form not being up to snuff,’ said Lavinia. ‘Her lob’s weak, which is marvellous to know. Mrs Thompson-Bates just stayed quiet and looked bored. She must be tired of hearing about it – she’s been touring with him this spring. I’ve seen snaps of them both in all my magazines. They always get into the Who’s Who pages because Mrs T-B’s family’s something important.’
‘Irrelevant!’ said Daisy. ‘Mr Thompson-Bates is not a suspect, as you wel
l know. Hurry up.’
‘But anyway, then we went into the Lyons, pretending to look for Dad, and we saw Alice Murgatroyd talking to Mr Murgatroyd. Apparently her mother telephoned House this morning to say that she’s going to stay in India and climb a mountain. Alice said she talked to her, and Mrs Murgatroyd said she was sorry to be missing the Anniversary. So she’s not dead, if Alice spoke to her, so we can rule her out of being the body, and Mr M of being the murderer!’
‘Excellent,’ said Daisy. ‘We had a good run of it too. We heard Mr Turnbull talking to Barny and Mrs Rivers, and Mrs Turnbull is still definitely missing. And just before you barged in, Hazel and I overheard Mr Stone and Jennifer, and Mr Stone was saying some very interesting things about getting married again. What if he has a secret fiancée, and she was the woman in the woods?’
‘Except why would he tell Jennifer about her today?’ I asked. ‘If he killed her yesterday, I mean.’
‘Watson makes a point,’ said Daisy, frowning rather. ‘Oh dear, there’s Kitty, and Binny. Quiet, please – we can’t let the third formers know what we’ve been up to!’
I thought two things. First, that for all Daisy was certain she was more grown up, being at Deepdean was pulling her back into all the silly little games that schoolgirls played.
And second, that we had lost our chance to talk to Beanie and Lavinia about what Daisy and I had overheard in the park. Something was up with Mr and Mrs Freebody – but what was it? Ought we to tell Kitty?
9
The morning had been warm and fresh, but that afternoon, as we all gathered on the sports fields for the exhibition matches, clouds clustered overhead. My skin felt sticky and my head ached – it was suddenly unbearably hot. Fathers were loosening their ties uncomfortably, some of them even leaving their jackets slung across little garden chairs – fearfully bad form – and mothers were fanning themselves with their programmes. The tea tent was doing a roaring trade in cool drinks.
I managed to get behind Mr Turnbull at the tea stand after I heard him chivalrously offering to fetch Mrs Thompson-Bates a glass of squash. ‘Any word from Artemis?’ she asked, glamorous in a pair of dark glasses and another jaunty scarf. ‘She was two years below me, and she had quite a pash on me. I was Tennis Scholar, of course, so it’s understandable.’
‘She should be here this evening,’ said Mr Turnbull, twitching, at which point Mr Thompson-Bates appeared and put his arm around his wife.
‘No time for drinks, Cordy – Lallie needs us before her match,’ he said, squeezing her shoulder. They both turned away from Mr Turnbull rather pointedly, and he was left alone clutching his glasses of squash.
I felt a nudge behind me and turned to see Daisy, eyes shining with excitement. ‘I’ve been going through the jackets!’ she whispered to me. ‘Lucky for us some of the fathers have forgotten how to behave politely. Anyway, I looked in Mr Turnbull’s wallet and he’s got francs in his. Which means that he must have been in France very recently indeed! He is becoming more suspicious by the minute.’
‘What about Mr Stone and Mr North?’ I whispered back, not bothering to point out to Daisy that looking through people’s wallets was very nearly stealing. I knew she would only sniff and tell me not to be dull.
‘Mr Stone’s got his wallet on him, bother him,’ said Daisy, ‘which proves he has a suspicious mind.’
We both looked over to see Mr Stone striding through the crowd, handsome and rakish with his red hair gleaming under the dull clouds. Jennifer ignored him – clearly still smarting from their argument earlier – and Mrs Rivers, dressed in a high-necked dark-green frock, tutted and narrowed her eyes at them both. Mr Stone winked at her, and she flushed and took a large gulp of her lemonade.
‘Mr North’s wallet only had pounds and shillings in it, though,’ Daisy went on. ‘A pity. Of course, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been to France recently as well, but we have no way of confirming— Oh goodness, look who it is! By the tree!’
I turned to look where she was pointing, and saw the Inspector lurking under the old oak tree at the edge of the hockey pitch. He looked overwarm in his mac, and he had his large hands wrapped uncomfortably around one of the very small cups the maids at the tea stand were giving out.
‘Good grief!’ said Daisy to him, as we sidled over to say hello. ‘That dreadful coat makes you look entirely out of place!’
‘Thank you for your comments, Madam Super,’ said the Inspector, wrinkling up his forehead at her. ‘Most helpful, as usual.’
‘I’m only saying!’ said Daisy. ‘If you behave wrong, it makes people nervous. You know some of the girls have recognized you – it isn’t so long since you were here for the Bonfire Night murder, after all. They’ll begin to talk, and then we’ll be scuppered. Look at Mrs Rivers, glaring at you as well as at Mr Stone!’
Inspector Priestley sighed. ‘And how should I be behaving?’ he asked.
‘Look happy to be here, for goodness’ sake!’ cried Daisy. ‘And talk to the parents. We found francs in Mr Turnbull’s wallet, which is deeply suspicious, but none in Mr North’s. Mr Stone has his wallet with him, so we can’t check that. We need to find out whether or not he’s been in Paris lately.’
‘Did you manage to find anything in town?’ I asked, as Inspector Priestley unbuttoned his coat, revealing a cheap dark-blue suit beneath it.
‘Not yet,’ said the Inspector. ‘But I’ll keep looking after the gala dinner tonight too. Now, Madam Super, who ought I to be speaking to?’
‘Perhaps it’s best that he’s wearing his coat!’ said Daisy, as the Inspector ambled away once we had pointed out our suspects. ‘That suit is off the rack! Oh dear, I suppose an inspector’s salary isn’t up to much. Now, Hazel, I keep on thinking about the dinner. It eats at me that we’re not allowed to be there, which is rather ironic. I wonder … I do wonder … if we could somehow manage to be on the spot …’
10
Lavinia’s exhibition match against Lallie Thompson-Bates was at three, and all four of us (and the Inspector) lined up to cheer her on.
Daisy nudged me. ‘Look!’ she whispered, nodding to our right. There was Mr North, with Betsy beside him. They were standing on the edge of the crowd, talking together animatedly.
I nodded to Daisy, and we both began to sidle towards the Norths, all the while keeping one eye on the game. Even I could tell that Lavinia was playing good tennis, and she was soon two games up. Lallie was small and slight, not strong enough to chase after every ball, and I saw her becoming more and more frustrated. She was no match for Lavinia.
It did not help that her parents were also in the crowd, and it was quite obvious to everyone that Mr Thompson-Bates was not happy. After every shot his daughter missed, he would bellow, ‘COME ON, LALLIE! HIT IT!’ Then he would turn to Mrs Thompson-Bates and mutter angrily in her ear, while she quirked an eyebrow and sighed.
‘She’s useless!’ Mr Thompson-Bates shouted, as Lavinia went another game up. ‘Just look at her!’
On court, Lallie faltered.
‘Darling, really – remember your second round against Sato in ’33,’ murmured Mrs Thompson-Bates. ‘Temper will get you nowhere.’
Mr Thompson-Bates breathed through his nose and squeezed her hand, momentarily soothed. Mrs Thompson-Bates smiled tightly behind her sunglasses.
We had now arrived at a spot just behind the Norths – and, of course, they seemed to have stopped talking. Betsy was now staring straight ahead at the game, her arms folded, while Mr North, a tall, dark-haired man with a thin face and bright blue eyes, shifted from foot to foot and looked bored.
Back on court, Lavinia thrust her arm into the air and slammed the ball over the net.
‘GO IT, LAVINIA!’ our dorm all shouted – and our words were echoed by a deep voice in the crowd behind us.
I turned to see Mr Temple, his beard combed and a yellow cravat around his neck, his arm about a bottle-blonde woman in a very clingy afternoon dress and pearls.
‘HOORAY, LAVINIA!�
�� she shrilled, and out on the court Lavinia flinched and flushed, and made a very cross face. The ball came at her and she slapped it away with her racket, so it flew over Lallie’s shoulder, bounced on the line and buried itself in the long grass. Lavinia’s mother, on the other side of the crowd, applauded pointedly, and Mr Temple glared at her.
‘Point to Temple,’ said Miss Talent, umpiring.
‘Nice for her to have her mother here,’ Betsy North grumbled pointedly.
Mr North sighed. ‘Not this again, Betsy,’ he said. ‘You can’t be cross. Mummy’s just—’
‘Home with smelly Roger!’ said Betsy, curling her lip. ‘It’s always his fault when she isn’t somewhere. Like this weekend! Whooping cough! I bet he doesn’t really have it. I didn’t hear him coughing on the telephone with Mummy this morning.’
I felt Daisy’s elbow in my side, and I gave her a quick nod to let her know I’d heard.
‘HIT IT, LAVINIA!’ Mr Temple whooped.
‘Would you mind NOT shouting?’ Mr Thompson-Bates asked crossly, turning towards him.
‘MIND?’ growled Mr Temple. ‘What business is it of YOURS, James?’
‘My DAUGHTER is trying to WIN the MATCH, Michael,’ said Mr Thompson-Bates.
‘James, darling, temper …’ said Mrs Thompson-Bates.
‘Cordy, dear, can’t you see I’m talking to Mr Temple?’ said Mr Thompson-Bates, his lips white.
Lavinia and Lallie both looked over at the commotion.
‘Oh, hello, Lavinia darling!’ cried the blonde woman next to Mr Temple, waving her hand excitedly. ‘It’s Patricia and Daddy! We’re here! You’re doing EVER so well!’
Lavinia narrowed her eyes, threw the ball into the air and slammed her racket into it as though she was crushing the skulls of her enemies. It burned through the air over Lallie’s head.
‘Game, set and match!’ called the umpire.
Lallie burst into tears. Mrs Thompson-Bates gasped. Lavinia smashed her racket on the ground. Mr Temple laughed nastily and said, ‘Just like the time I beat you at the match at Weston, remember, James?’
8 Top Marks for Murder Page 8