Arsenic For Tea: A Wells and Wong Mystery

  But although Daisy raked through the contents of the bureau, sending dull brown skirts and jumpers spinning into the air like birds bursting out of the undergrowth on an English walk, her search yielded no results.

  ‘Nothing here,’ she groaned. ‘Come on, Hazel – hurry up! Kitty, be useful and fold these clothes.’

  I did look. Really I did. I looked inside each of Miss Alston’s books, wafts of new-book smell ruffling my hair as I did so, and I even pulled her shiny brown suitcase out from under the bed and ran my fingers across the lining. That’s where people keep stolen jewels in stories, after all. But there was nothing. No watch, no cup, and no letter of reference. In fact, no letters of any kind. And although we had been through Miss Alston’s room quite thoroughly, we hadn’t found a single personal item. No family photographs, no notes from friends. She was as mysterious as ever.

  ‘She really is an awfully private person,’ I said to Daisy. ‘Do you think she even has a family? There aren’t any snapshots of them.’

  Daisy sat back on her heels. ‘She must have a family,’ she said. ‘Everyone does . . . unless – wait, Hazel, wait! You might have a point!’

  Kitty and I waited.

  ‘Look at this room,’ said Daisy. ‘Look at the things in it. You ought to be able to tell about someone from their surroundings. What does this tell us? Nothing. The books are new, and there aren’t even any inscriptions in them. The clothes are brand new too – they don’t even look as if they have been washed. She might have bought new outer things for this visit, but surely she’s not rich enough to have bought new underwear. And yet it’s all new! Even her case is new. Just look at it! No customs labels, no scratches on the leather. What’s wrong is that nothing’s wrong. It’s all too perfect! These aren’t possessions, they’re props.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I asked. I realized that Daisy was quite right. This whole room was a gap where a personality ought to be. Miss Alston was not a real person at all.

  ‘It means,’ said Daisy, ‘that even though we haven’t found any real clues, we are closer to understanding Miss Alston’s secret. Whatever she is, we know what she isn’t: she isn’t a real governess; she is merely playing the part of one. We need to know what she’s shown Mummy and Daddy, and how she managed to get herself here, teaching us. What Hazel and I heard yesterday proves that Mr Curtis knew something about her that she didn’t want to come out – we must discover what that was.’

  ‘How?’ asked Kitty. ‘If you ask her, I doubt she’ll tell you anything.’

  Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I’m not going to ask her,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to ask anyone. I’m going to find the letter she sent Mummy and Daddy when she applied for the post of governess.’

  11

  Beanie was still standing outside on the landing, her face more pinched and worried than ever.

  ‘Excellent guarding, Beans,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Yes, good stuff,’ added Daisy, not really looking at her. ‘Now, can we get on?’

  ‘Daisy,’ said Beanie, in a very small voice.

  ‘Our search was inconclusive,’ said Daisy. ‘We’re off to Daddy’s study to see if we can find anything more helpful.’

  ‘Daisy,’ said Beanie again.

  ‘What is it, Beanie? You’re not still worried that we did something wrong, are you?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Beanie, in the tiniest voice imaginable. ‘It’s just that . . . I think I found something.’

  Beanie unclasped her hands from behind her back and brought them round where we could see. Clutched in them was a small black notebook. ‘I was standing waiting for you,’ she said, ‘and I was looking around, in case someone came up behind me and surprised me, and then I suddenly looked down and saw this. It was just by the top of the stairs, and I nearly didn’t see it because it’s so dark, and the banisters are dark too. I think someone must have dropped it.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Daisy, ready to shrug it off.

  ‘Oh, I haven’t looked yet,’ said Beanie. ‘I was afraid to.’

  Daisy sighed and snatched the book out of her hands. ‘It’s probably just Chapman’s to-do list,’ she said. ‘Or Miss Alston’s lesson planner. I’m sure—’

  But then her eyes went wide, and wider, and her mouth opened in a gasp of excitement.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Kitty. ‘Ugh, it looks dirty.’

  I had to admit that it did rather. It was all bent and fraying, and the black leather had gone grey at the edges.

  ‘Hazel, come look at this and tell me whether I’m going quite insane,’ said Daisy softly, without looking up.

  Kitty and Beanie stared at me jealously as I took the book, and opened it. Property of Denis Curtis, it said on the first page, and all the other pages were squeezed full of rows and rows of words, all squashed together in the most minute black lettering. It was a long, long list of names, with tiny notes next to each.

  Henry. Visited house 16.8.1932 – Meissen tea set – had no idea of worth. Offered to take it off his hands for £10. 18.8.1932 – sold for £130.

  Abbot. Visited house 2.10.1932 – necklace, diamonds and rubies. Took straight off the neck of his lovely wife. Suggested it must have fallen into a pot in the conservatory. We hunted, no joy. 5.10.1932 – sold on for £800.

  Schultz. 28.1.1933 – Old Master in a drawer. Liberated it into my suitcase. Sold on for £460.

  I flicked forward through the book, past pages and pages of little names. Ferrars, Lord Digby-Jones, Mackintosh, Petrey (MP) – half the important people in the country seemed to be here, and their valuables. I turned to the final pages, a little spark of horror going through me, and saw:

  Wells (Lord Hastings). Visited house 12.4.1935. Ming vase – but too large to lift! Chippendale furniture, and some very good paintings too. Old Master in the downstairs hallway! May have some luck with jewels. Lovely wife responsive, has no idea of value of anything. Should be easy money!

  ‘Daisy,’ I said. ‘It’s the notebook we saw Mr Curtis with yesterday! We were right.’

  ‘HAH!’ cried Daisy. ‘Yes! We said it all along! Mr Curtis was a criminal, and now we have proof!’

  ‘But—’ Kitty started.

  ‘There’s no doubt, Kitty. You look at this book and tell me that it’s not a list of all of Mr Curtis’s dastardly thieving. Tell me!’

  She thrust it in Kitty’s face, and Kitty flicked through it, frowning.

  ‘Well . . .’ she said. ‘Well – all right, it is.’

  Beanie gasped. ‘But why would he put his name on it?’ she asked.

  ‘If I’d done bad things, I wouldn’t write it down in a book at all,’ said Kitty.

  ‘I’d write it in code,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I know you would,’ said Daisy to me. ‘That’s because you’re clever. Mr Curtis was stupid and vain, and so it absolutely fits that he’d do something so – so smug!’

  ‘Are you going to show anyone?’ asked Beanie.

  Daisy paused. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll wait until we have more evidence. Until we can announce who the murderer is as well.’

  Daisy had told Uncle Felix about her suspicions so eagerly a few days before. Everything had changed since then. We could no longer be sure that he was on our side. We could not even be sure that he was not the guilty person.

  Daisy flicked through the little notebook again, and she scowled. ‘Bother!’ she said. ‘It’s all in date order, rather than alphabetical, and it’s written so small! How are we ever to know if any of our suspects are in here? Hazel, you’ll have to read it.’

  Just then, we heard loud voices below us. They came from somewhere deep down in the house, and they sounded very cross indeed. Reading the notebook would have to wait. Daisy and I glanced at each other, and then Daisy motioned us all downstairs.

  12

  We crept down the front stairs together. I felt most dreadfully nervous, and as always when we go on detective missions, quite sure that anyone who saw us would
know what we were up to at once. The notebook felt very hot and guilty in the pocket of my skirt – but as usual, I need not have worried. When we reached the hall we found everyone much too busy to bother wondering about us.

  Lady Hastings, Aunt Saskia and Uncle Felix were standing there, and they were all shouting at each other.

  ‘I tell you, Margaret, I have everything under control!’ said Uncle Felix. His cheeks were flushed and his monocle was dangling down from his jacket pocket, swinging with every gesture he made. ‘Mr Curtis’s room and the dining room are locked. Dr Cooper has taken samples, and he will send them to London as soon as the roads open again. Even if they could get here – which they certainly cannot with the floods so high – there is simply nothing else the police could do.’

  ‘They could interview us,’ said Lady Hastings. ‘They could believe me. I still don’t think you do, Felix!’

  ‘You mustn’t call the police, Margaret!’ said Aunt Saskia urgently. She was squeezing her fingers in her fur stole, and bits of her hair were escaping from their pins down about her shoulders. She was only wearing one earring, and her stole glared at me with its beady little button eyes. ‘I mean to say – it’s not nice. People like us don’t call the police. We can sort this out on our own, can’t we?’

  ‘Doesn’t she look a fright?’ Kitty muttered in my ear.

  ‘Good Lord, this is maddening!’ said Lady Hastings. ‘What is wrong with you all? Anyone would think you weren’t sorry that Mr Curtis was dead! Well, I’m calling the police this minute, and there’s not a thing any of you can say to stop me!’

  She pounced on the telephone.

  ‘The line will still be down from last night,’ said Uncle Felix – but it wasn’t. I saw a flicker of annoyance chase across his face.

  ‘Operator!’ cried Lady Hastings. ‘I want the Deepdean Police. Immediately.’

  Aunt Saskia pulled her fur stole around her. Uncle Felix paced, fists clenched in his pockets. We four glanced at each other. I could tell that Kitty, especially, was adoring the scene.

  ‘Hello!’ said Lady Hastings. ‘Hello! . . . This is Lady Hastings, and I want to report a murder. Hello? What? . . . No, I am not making it up . . . Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I am. I am Lady Hastings, of Fallingford House, and one of my house guests has been murdered.’

  ‘This is just like the pictures!’ whispered Kitty in excitement.

  ‘I say, will you pass me to Inspector Priestley? I know him. Listen to me, one of my guests has been murdered and if you do not pass this telephone to your Inspector immediately I shall have you fired . . . Hello? I say, hello? . . . Oh, Inspector Priestley, there you are . . . Yes, this is she . . . Yes, really murdered . . . Yes, Fallingford House . . . How? Poison. Yesterday. It was simply awful. You must come at once . . . Yes, we’re fearfully flooded . . . What? Don’t you have boats? . . . Well, come as soon as you can, then. I tell you, a man has been poisoned! Goodbye.’

  She slammed down the receiver and turned to look at us all. ‘There,’ she said. ‘That’s done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be by myself in the library.’

  ‘I’m leaving,’ said Aunt Saskia. ‘At once. I can’t bear—’

  ‘As you know perfectly well, we are all trapped here,’ said Uncle Felix.

  Aunt Saskia made a gasping, choking noise, and fled past us up the stairs, shedding a scarf and a jangling bracelet as she went. The bracelet nearly hit Beanie.

  ‘Oh dear!’ whispered Beanie. ‘Do you think Daddy will still be able to come for us tomorrow?’

  ‘Now,’ said Uncle Felix, turning to us. It gave me a little jolt of shock. I was realizing that he was just as noticing a person as Daisy. ‘What are you four up to? Listening in, were you?’

  ‘No,’ said Daisy coolly. ‘We were on our way down to see Daddy, and you stopped us. We couldn’t very well creep past while you were all shouting at each other, could we?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘As usual, a likely story.’

  ‘You haven’t really locked Mr Curtis’s room too?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘Indeed I have,’ said Uncle Felix, staring down at her through his monocle. ‘We don’t want to end up with a body that has been picked over by small girls.’

  ‘I’m fourteen!’

  ‘Regardless. Sometimes, Daisy, you need to learn to leave well alone. This is for people who know what they’re doing.’

  I could see how much that hurt Daisy. She took a step back, mouth open. ‘The police, you mean?’ she asked when she had got her breath back. ‘Why don’t you want Inspector Priestley to come? You do think something odd’s going on, I know you do! We heard you last night—’

  ‘What did you hear last night?’ Uncle Felix’s voice had gone all silky, just the way it had been in the maze the day before. I stepped away from him in alarm, and even Daisy shrank back a little.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, bluffing it out. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Run along, Daisy,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘Run along. If you are really looking for him, I believe your father’s study is that way.’

  ‘You know perfectly well it is,’ said Daisy. ‘All right. We’re running.’

  13

  When we got to the study, Lord Hastings was alone; he was sitting in a worn leather armchair facing the fire, his slippered feet propped up on Toast Dog, who was curled up in a fat snoring ball. Millie was draped across his lap like a rug. There were paintings and knick-knacks of all sorts – feathers and bits of paper – hanging on the walls.

  At first I was glad that Miss Alston wasn’t there, considering our purpose, but the more I thought about it, the odder it seemed. If Miss Alston was not with us, and not with Lord Hastings, where was she? She was supposed to have a job to do – what was she here for, after all?

  ‘Hello, Daughter, Daughter’s friends,’ said Lord Hastings in a slightly mournful voice. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘We’re bored,’ said Daisy. ‘It’s raining. We thought we’d come and say hello.’ Then she turned to me and, quiet as a breath, said, ‘Desk. Quick. I’ll distract him.’ Then she pushed Millie aside and perched herself on the arm of her father’s chair.

  ‘Daddy,’ she said, ‘what shall we do? And don’t say teach Toast Dog circus tricks, the way you did last time. I know perfectly well that won’t work, and besides, I’m not eight.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Lord Hastings. ‘Are you too old for treasure hunts?’

  ‘All but the very good ones.’ Daisy turned and widened her eyes at me. Using Kitty and Beanie as a shield, I crept towards Lord Hastings’ desk. It was simply littered with papers – piles and piles of them. I had no idea how I would ever find a particular one. I began to shift through them, as carefully as I could. Receipts, land deeds, family trees – it seemed as if every document the Wells family owned was here. Kitty and Beanie hovered in front of me, Beanie chewing at her plait and wriggling with nerves. I was quite sure that my search would come to nothing. Lord Hastings was looking away, at Daisy, but surely he would notice what I was doing before long? Then I heard Daisy.

  ‘I do admit that Miss Alston is quite good at treasure hunts, but her lessons are terribly boring,’ she said. Daisy can be an excellent liar when she wants to be. ‘She’s such a dull old thing! Really, where ever did you find her?’

  ‘Odd story, that,’ said Lord Hastings, shifting his feet on Toast Dog, who grumbled in his sleep. ‘She wrote to us. Said she’d heard we were looking. But she came from an agency – the . . . Oh, it began with an H, or an R – and she had all her references.’

  ‘In March?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘No, it began with an R, Daisy, not an M— Oh, I see. Yes, March or thereabouts. It was terribly convenient. We hadn’t even got round to advertising.’

  ‘So not long ago,’ said Daisy. ‘It can’t be too far down. I’m sure if you think logically, you’ll remember.’ Her voice had become louder for a moment, and I knew she was giving me a message. I looked at the papers again. If they went b
y date – newest on the top – then all I had to do was find March 1935. There was April. I shifted papers again, barely breathing. A bill from Liberty’s. Another from the grocer. A plan of a field. And a letter with an official-looking letterhead that said: THE REPUTABLE AGENCY.

  March 15th 1935

  Dear Lord Hastings,

  I write to you to offer my services . . .

  It was clipped to two other pieces of paper, and quick as a flash I scooped up all three and jammed them under my cardigan. Beanie squeaked. Kitty looked at me, and then over at Daisy and Lord Hastings, and said, ‘You know, Daisy, I think I’ve got an idea for a game after all. We all get a bit of paper – it’s called Found.’

  Next to her, Beanie opened her mouth to protest – but then she understood. Her eyes bulged out of her head with excitement, and she squeezed her hands together.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve heard of that,’ said Lord Hastings. ‘Is it new?’

  ‘The absolutely newest!’ said Daisy, beaming. ‘Kitty, you are a brick for thinking of it. Come on, everyone, off we go! Thank you, Daddy, you’ve been tremendously interesting to talk to. You’ve inspired us.’

  ‘Delighted, Daughter dear,’ said her father. ‘Be a good girl, now.’

  ‘Always,’ said Daisy in her most innocent voice, shooing me out of the door as quickly as she could. I breathed in and tried not to crackle.

  14

  The drawing room was empty, so we all rushed in, and Daisy closed the door and leaned on it. I breathed in again and the letters fell out from under my cardigan onto the carpet.

  ‘Ooh, what do they say?’ asked Beanie breathlessly.

  We spread them out, and read.