Arsenic For Tea

  ‘No, sir,’ said Hetty.

  Lord Hastings withdrew. We all heard him say to someone in the hall, ‘Hetty saw a rat. Says she has a phobia.’

  We all breathed again. ‘Phobia,’ said Mrs Doherty. ‘I agree with Lord Hastings! But it is odd, all the same. I don’t blame you for being shocked. Where is Daisy? It’s not like her to miss a bit of excitement.’

  ‘She’s not feeling well,’ I said again uncomfortably. ‘I’ll . . . go and see her now.’

  I left Beanie and Kitty in the kitchens – they would be safe with Mrs Doherty, I decided – and went upstairs alone. Some talks are for best friends only.

  6

  I climbed the back stairs to the nursery – I’d got into the habit of using them now – with a sick feeling in my stomach and a very leaden feeling in my feet. I didn’t want to see Daisy, and I knew that she didn’t want to see me. What if she never wanted to speak to me again?

  I wondered whether we should give up on hunting for the murderer. After all, no one apart from Lady Hastings was upset about Mr Curtis, and even she would probably get over it in time. I felt terrible for thinking it, but there it was.

  I decided to tell Daisy that we were going to pretend none of this had ever happened. We didn’t even need to pay attention to the cup. The police could look at it when they arrived.

  But when I pushed open the door of the nursery, it seemed to be empty. I stared about in astonishment. Where had Daisy gone?

  Then I heard a little rustling noise from under her bed. I got down on hands and knees and crawled cautiously forward – and saw a white sock, kicking against the metal bed frame. It was attached to a small ankle, and that was attached to a slim, scratched leg – and above that was Daisy’s woollen skirt.

  ‘Wotcher,’ I whispered. Very carefully, I put out a hand to tap Daisy’s knee, and she turned her head and looked at me.

  Her gold was all dimmed, and there were snaky dust-tracks down her cheeks. At that moment she did not look like my Daisy Wells at all. ‘Go away,’ she said.

  ‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘Don’t try to make me.’

  ‘What happened downstairs just now?’ asked Daisy. ‘No! For all I care, you can solve the rotten case on your own. Since you’re such a good detective, you won’t be needing me anyway.’

  ‘You’re a good detective too,’ I said loyally.

  ‘Honestly, Hazel, don’t be so nice.’ She pushed herself up onto her elbows and screwed up her face in despair. ‘Why can’t everything be neat and simple and right?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  ‘It always is in books,’ said Daisy. ‘That’s what upsets me. Somehow you don’t expect . . . real life.’

  ‘It might not be him.’

  ‘Hazel, I need to buck up and face the facts,’ she said bitterly. ‘Oh, I could kill Mr Curtis all over again for upsetting us all like this! What was that crash, by the way?’

  ‘The missing teacup – Hetty’s found it. It’s back in the kitchens. Someone put it with the washing-up, amongst lots of other cups.’

  Daisy’s head bumped against the bed springs. ‘What?’ she said. ‘It’s back?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry, Daisy. It’s all muddled in with the other dirty things, so we won’t be able to use it as evidence now.’

  But Daisy didn’t look sorry at all. Suddenly she was fizzing, all her Daisy-ishness back with a vengeance.

  ‘But, Hazel!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you see? This changes everything! If the teacup is in the kitchens, then Daddy simply didn’t do the murder.’

  I didn’t follow. ‘Daisy, your father was downstairs just now. He could easily have put the cup back in the kitchens.’

  Daisy bounced, and the bed springs clinked again. She edged out from under the bed. ‘Ouch. No, Hazel, listen. It wouldn’t occur to Daddy to put the teacup back where it ought to go. If he’d taken it, he’d keep it hidden . . . oh, I don’t know, in his wardrobe, or do something silly and dramatic like burying it in the garden. He’d never hide it somewhere as sensible as the kitchens. This is the evidence I was hoping for. He’s innocent!’

  I thought about Lord Hastings’ untidiness: his jackets and walking sticks and hats were scattered all over the house. Daisy is not always logical, but she has a sense about people, and in this case I realized that her sense might be right.

  ‘But who did it, if he didn’t?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ said Daisy, ‘Miss Alston has a tremendously tidy mind. And . . . let’s see – Aunt Saskia behaves as though she’s too silly for words, but really she is perfectly intelligent and resourceful. Hazel, I was wrong. We can’t stop now – we simply can’t! Daddy looks guilty, I see that, and that’s what the police will think, once they arrive. What happened to the teacup proves to me that he didn’t do it, but it won’t prove anything to anyone official. We have to save him from himself! Daddy gets so terribly nervous – once some silly old lord asked him a question in the middle of a speech in the House, and Daddy got apoplectic and called him an insufferable popinjay in front of everyone. He refused to answer anything and had to be disciplined.’

  ‘What is a popinjay?’ I asked.

  ‘Goodness – a sort of parrot, don’t you know? The point is, we’ve seen from our re-creation, and from our investigation in general, how guilty Daddy looks. The police will fix on him at once, and then he’ll respond by behaving like the guiltiest man alive. If we don’t help him, he’ll be in jail in the blink of an eye.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. I knew I had to back her up – and I did see what she meant about Lord Hastings. ‘But what shall we do about it?’

  ‘Well, for the moment you’ll just have to trust me,’ said Daisy, brushing herself down in a most businesslike manner. ‘Come on, let’s go down and find our assistants, so we can inform them about this important development. We’ve ruled out another suspect!’

  But as I raced to follow Daisy down the stairs, I couldn’t help worrying. I believed her about the teacup, but I didn’t see how we could prove it. And even if it was not Lord Hastings, that left five suspects, four of them in Daisy’s family. I still felt that this case was not one that we would like solving. All the same, I was glad that the Daisy in front of me was my Daisy again, ridiculous and brilliant and mad – and superstitiously, I felt that Daisy in that sort of mood could solve anything.

  7

  As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the hall telephone rang, and Chapman limped out of the drawing room to answer it. He stared at us with a not particularly friendly expression on his face.

  ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Indeed it is . . . Yes . . . No . . . Yes – certainly, sir, I shall just fetch her.’ Then he held the mouthpiece away from his face as though it might bite him, and called, ‘Madam! Telephone!’

  There was no answer, and Chapman sighed, put down the receiver and shuffled away towards the library. As soon as he’d gone, Daisy pounced. She was obviously still in an extremely buoyant mood. She pressed the receiver to her ear and the mouthpiece to her lips and shouted, ‘Hello! Inspector Priestley? Hello? . . . Oh, who is this? . . . No, I’m not Lady Hastings. Goodness, how old do you think I am? Who are you? Where’s Inspector Priestley? You’re being awfully lax, you know – you should tell your inspector that if he doesn’t hurry up and get here quickly we will have solved the case before him again . . . Yes, we will, and you can tell him that Daisy Wells says so . . . Don’t you laugh at me! How rude! If you were my policeman I should demote you. Oh – Mummy’s here. Bother. Tell Inspector Priestley—’

  Lady Hastings wrenched the phone out of Daisy’s grasp.

  ‘Apologies, Inspector,’ she said breathlessly. ‘My daughter— Oh. Who is this? . . . Where is Inspector Priestley? Really, I do think we are being shoddily treated. Don’t you know who I am? . . . Yes, I know there are floods, but you ought to have been here hours ago! We’ve got a poor man’s body simply mouldering away upstairs, and we’ve been sent no support, and . . . Oh. You are coming? You’ll be here tomor
row morning? Well, I must say, it’s not a moment too soon. What if there were to be another murder? I tell you, we are all in the most terrible danger . . . Yes . . . Yes . . . No, certainly not! . . . Yes . . . Oh, all right then. Goodbye.’

  She put down the phone with a clatter and sighed dramatically. She had an audience – and not just the two of us, either. While she was talking, the drawing-room door had opened again, and Aunt Saskia’s large face, all set about with earrings and scarves, had come poking out, a distinctly sharp and suspicious look on it under its puff of hair. Behind her were Miss Alston and Uncle Felix (together again, I thought) – and out of the library came Bertie, with Lord Hastings and Stephen behind him. All our suspects, in fact, were there, and they had all heard Lady Hastings’ conversation. I saw Kitty and Beanie pop their heads round the door to the kitchens – even they were listening in.

  ‘The police are on their way!’ said Lady Hastings unnecessarily. ‘They think the flood will be down by morning. We shall get to the bottom of this horrid business at last!’

  ‘Mother, you are an idiot,’ said Bertie.

  ‘I think what Bertie means,’ said Uncle Felix, ‘is that if you do get to the bottom of this, you might not like what you find.’

  ‘Oh, do be quiet, all of you!’ cried Lady Hastings. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, and I don’t care! Denis has been murdered. I know you all hated him – he told me about the fearful argument you had with him, George, and about you threatening him, Felix. And his watch – I haven’t seen it, have you, Saskia? Denis had no secrets from me, and I shan’t hide anything from the police when they arrive tomorrow.’

  Aunt Saskia gasped. Miss Alston squeezed her lips tight shut, as though she were trying to stop words escaping. Bertie crumpled up his fist and slammed it into his open palm. ‘Come on, Stephen, don’t just stand there,’ he said furiously. ‘I don’t much feel like being in present company any longer.’

  Lord Hastings was standing stock-still in the library doorway, and he had turned a very funny puce colour. His hands were clutched together over his bulging stomach and his mouth was open. ‘But, Margaret,’ he said, ‘you can’t simply . . . Think of the family, Margaret . . .’

  ‘Oh, family,’ said Lady Hastings rudely. ‘Bother family. Now, Chapman, stop gaping like an idiot and go and see to dinner.’

  8

  Everyone retreated upstairs – except Uncle Felix, who went towards the billiard room, and Miss Alston. She narrowed her eyes at us, tapped her wristwatch and said, ‘Almost time, girls. Be in the music room in five minutes.’ Whether or not she was guilty, she was certainly menacing. ‘I must just get something from my room. Don’t be late.’ She turned and went striding purposefully up the stairs, handbag swinging on her arm as always.

  The air felt thick – or perhaps I was just not breathing very well. I couldn’t do it, I thought in a panic. I couldn’t behave as though everything was normal, when Miss Alston might have murdered Mr Curtis – and want to murder us all.

  ‘Buck up, Watson!’ whispered Daisy, and she squeezed my hand sharply. ‘She shan’t hurt us! Detective Society for ever!’

  No matter how frightened I was, I couldn’t let Daisy down. I took a deep breath and nodded.

  ‘Kitty, Beanie!’ called Daisy. ‘Time for lessons!’

  Her voice didn’t shake at all. Sometimes I think Daisy is quite marvellous.

  Kitty and Beanie popped out of the kitchens again, both looking as worried as I felt.

  ‘Buck up!’ said Daisy.

  Kitty seized hold of Beanie’s arm and marched her forward, but before we were halfway across the hall Beanie gasped, ‘No! I won’t! I don’t want to!’ and made a frantic dive for the library. We rushed after her, and found her huddled behind a sofa, whimpering.

  ‘Honestly,’ said Daisy.

  We were still trying to decide what to do about her when the door opened again, and Bertie barged in.

  ‘Hello!’ he said, frowning. ‘Forgot something. What’s all this then, Squashy?’

  ‘Beanie’s being silly,’ said Daisy, not looking at him. ‘Go away, Bertie – it’s a girl thing.’

  ‘She’s not upset about Mr Curtis, is she?’ asked Bertie. ‘You know there wasn’t really a murder, don’t you? Mummy’s just being an ass. Mind you, if someone did kill Curtis, we all ought to thank them.’

  ‘Stop it,’ snapped Daisy. ‘Don’t be an idiot. You’re making yourself sound fearfully guilty.’

  Bertie glared at her for a moment, and I was afraid that he was going to do something awful, like shout, or strike her. But instead of that, he opened his mouth and roared with laughter.

  ‘Squashy!’ he howled. ‘What on earth – me, guilty? You infernal little idiot! Why would I kill a bounder like Curtis? He was mud on my shoe! I’d never . . . imagine risking the noose just to bump off Curtis!’

  ‘But Mummy—’ cried Daisy, her front quite down for a moment. ‘She and Mr Curtis—’

  ‘Mummy,’ said Bertie, ‘can do whatever she chooses. I’ve given up long ago, and if you had any sense you would too. Daisy, if I was to bump off all Mummy’s idiotic boyfriends, I’d be a murderer ten times over by now.’

  ‘That isn’t true!’ said Daisy. I put my hand on her arm. How awful. Poor Daisy!

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Bertie. Footsteps came from the room above us, beating out his words terribly. ‘Don’t you know anything?’

  ‘You go away, Squinty, you awful beast!’ Daisy shouted. ‘Don’t you say that to me!’

  And it was at that precise moment that we heard the most awful shriek from the first floor, and then a terrible thudding sound.

  It hung in my ears like a blow. We stood still, and I counted ten beats of my heart in my head – the only noise in the whole silent house.

  Then there was another shout. ‘HELP!’ roared Uncle Felix’s voice from the hall. ‘QUICK! HELP!’

  ‘Oh, what is it?’ cried Beanie, clutching at Kitty’s sleeve.

  ‘Don’t ask!’ said Daisy. ‘Hurry up! Something’s happened!’

  9

  We raced out of the library, all five of us together. At the same time up popped Aunt Saskia at the turn of the stair, like a rabbit out of a hat, and then Lord Hastings came rushing down to join her, shouting, ‘Good Lord, what is it? What’s happened?’

  I heard Stephen come hammering down the main stairs from the nursery floor, and then he appeared too, looking plain terrified – I think the same look must have been on my face. There was an odd silence at the very middle of everything, something hot and terrible, like a fire covered over but still burning away.

  Uncle Felix was kneeling in the middle of the hall, hunched over something piled up at the foot of the stairs. Miss Alston was standing behind him, very still. She was holding both hands pressed together in front of her, so tightly that they looked like twisted vines. I wondered what would make her hold herself like that. But she was only staring at the bundle of clothes in front of Uncle Felix. His shouts must simply have been a mistake.

  I felt dreadfully relieved.

  Then the clothes moved.

  It seemed as though the whole house gasped, but really I think it was only me. Aunt Saskia screamed, ‘MARGARET!’ which sounded terribly false and out of place, and made my ears hurt.

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Lord Hastings emptily. ‘Good Lord! What’s happened!’

  ‘Margaret’s fallen down the stairs,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘She’s badly hurt. She needs a doctor – quick!’

  He looked at Miss Alston, but it was Bertie who answered. ‘I’ll call!’ he snapped. ‘She’s my mother.’

  The door from the kitchens opened, and Chapman came out. ‘What’s happened?’ he cried. He saw Lady Hastings lying on the floor, and went quite grey with horror. He began to look up, towards where Lord Hastings was standing, but then he dragged his gaze back down with a jolt.

  Daisy surged forward, but Uncle Felix held his hands out against her like a shield. ‘No!’ he said. ‘Don??
?t look.’

  ‘Really!’ said Daisy. ‘Am I allowed to do anything this weekend?’

  ‘Daisy!’ said Uncle Felix fiercely.

  ‘Oh, all right!’ said Daisy, a shrill note in her voice. ‘If you’re going to be a grown-up about it.’

  I put my arm round her as Bertie shouted for the operator to get him Dr Cooper at once, and Aunt Saskia swayed and wailed, clinging to Lord Hastings. I could feel Daisy shivering as though she had a fever.

  Uncle Felix was kneeling over the bundle that was Lady Hastings, while Miss Alston spoke short, quiet words in his ear. Once again they were behaving as though they knew each other very well. I thought of what Uncle Felix had said a few minutes ago – Margaret’s fallen down the stairs. I couldn’t believe that. Someone must have pushed her. Uncle Felix seemed to be helping her now, but he had arrived on the scene awfully quickly – and so had Miss Alston. What had she gone to collect, after all? Had it been a ruse to get us out of the way for a moment?

  Then I looked up at the main stairs. They were dark and twisting and shadowy – the day had faded, and the electric lamps had not yet been put on. It was just the place for an ambush. Someone must have pushed Lady Hastings down from the very top – exactly where Aunt Saskia and Lord Hastings had come from. Once again, I thought with a feeling of hopelessness, Lord Hastings seemed very suspicious. I believed Daisy – I did, I told myself firmly – but the police wouldn’t. The only thing that made me feel even the smallest bit glad was that, at last, we had ruled out one of Daisy’s family. Bertie had been with us the moment we heard Lady Hastings scream – there was no possible way, even with the most cunning of plans, that he could have been the person who pushed her.

  10

  We were banished to the drawing room, with the door shut and a box of dominoes in front of us. Toast Dog and Millie were there too, whining and grumbling and aching to be let out. None of us quite knew what to do with them – or ourselves.