Arsenic For Tea: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery (A Wells and Wong Mystery) (14 page)

‘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.’

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 by 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.

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.

March 15
^th
1935

Dear Lord Hastings,

I write to you to offer my services as governess to your daughter, the Honourable Daisy Wells. I have become aware that the position is vacant, and I believe that I am ideally qualified to impart knowledge to Miss Wells. I am newly registered with the Reputable Agency, but have worked as a governess in some of the most respectable households in the land for many years, and can provide impressive references (attached). Please write to me at the PO Box indicated with your response – I am available immediately
.

Yours sincerely,

Lucy Alston (Miss)

‘Oh,’ said Kitty, disappointed. ‘So she really is a governess.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Daisy. ‘This letter practically
confirms
that Miss Alston lied to Mummy and Daddy. First of all, whatever is the Reputable Agency? Reputable
what
? It’s far too vague to be a real thing. Second, she as good as tells us that she’s only just joined it – so what agency was she with before, and why did she leave, if she’s so qualified and excellent? Third, how did she find out that the position was going? She doesn’t say at all, and Daddy told us he didn’t advertise. And fourth, she’s far too eager.
Available immediately
? That’s deeply suspicious. Now to look at her references.’

There were two, one written on thick cream paper with a gold letterhead, and one typed, rather badly, on paper with a heavy bluish grain. The first was from Lady Eveleigh, and the second from Professor Roger Fox-Trottenham. Both were utterly glowing about Miss Alston’s qualifications and teaching ability.
I would advice you to take her on without delay
, wrote Lady Eveleigh.
I was adviced by my good friend Lord Dutton to hire Miss Alston, and I have not regretted it for an instant
, wrote Professor Fox-Trottenham.

‘Daisy!’ I said, confused. ‘Look, they both—’

‘They both use the wrong sort of advise!’ hissed Daisy. ‘And look at their signatures!’

They looked quite different at first – but then I saw it. The G of Roger and the G of Eveleigh had the same thick loop with a flick at the end.

I sat back on my heels.

‘I think,’ said Daisy, going pink with excitement, ‘that these two letters were written by
the same person
!’

‘Golly!’ said Kitty. I could tell that, in spite of herself, she was impressed. Beanie’s eyes had gone rounder than ever.

Miss Alston’s references were fakes. She was lying, and she was here because of a lie. But why? What did she want with Fallingford? And how were we to find out?

‘What shall we do?’ Beanie said exactly what I was thinking. I was stumped – but, of course, nothing ever halts Daisy’s mind for long. If she comes up against a problem, she bounds round it and keeps on chasing after the truth. She stared at the three of us, beaming.

‘It’s perfectly obvious!’ she said. ‘We’re going to speak to the only other people who have any idea what goes on in this house. Mrs Doherty and Hetty.’

We managed to creep out of the drawing room and across the hall to the kitchens without seeing anyone. The kitchens are lovely. I am quite sure that nothing has changed in them since Queen Victoria was alive – all cold stone and shiny brass, with great wooden racks swinging up above your head that are quite alarming until you realize that they are only for drying things. Mrs Doherty the cook, though, makes the place feel warm and full of food – there are always broken bits of a tart that did not quite turn out as expected, and cooling trays of biscuits where one or two have caught on their undersides and need to be eaten up. Mrs Doherty is very little and smiling, with clipped grey hair under her white cap, and she moves very fast, as though there is never enough time in the day.

When we came in she was standing among Lord Hastings’ bright but fading flowers, peeling carrots, her knife flashing and sparks of orange flying out into the air all around her; Hetty had her hands buried in the sink, washing up.

Daisy cleared her throat and they both looked up.

‘Hello, Miss Daisy, love,’ said Mrs Doherty. ‘Come for your bunbreak? If you’re hungry there’s a treacle tart with a burned side that can’t go out at lunch, and macaroons too. I made them yesterday, but I forgot to put them out at tea.’

My heart jumped at the mention of yesterday’s birthday tea – but all the same I couldn’t stop my mouth watering. The macaroons were piled up on a plate, all fat and golden and tempting.

‘Golly,’ said Daisy. ‘You are a brick, Mrs D. Can I have both?’

‘Of course you can,’ said Mrs Doherty, beaming. ‘As it’s you.’

‘And you lot can have the same,’ said Daisy to the three of us, ‘as you’re with me.’

The macaroons were heavenly, like biting into a puff of coconut, and the tart was rich and sticky. I chewed happily (one bite of one, and then one of the other, to keep on surprising my mouth) and listened to Daisy talk.

‘Isn’t it funny about Miss Alston?’ said Daisy conversationally, biting a perfect circle around the edge of her macaroon. ‘How she came here, I mean. Daddy told me that she applied out of the blue, just like that! Imagine! She must have heard about my genius.’

Mrs Doherty laughed. ‘Your genius, eh?’ she said, giving Hetty a wink.

Hetty grinned back, gave a side plate one final swoop with her cloth and set it down on the side. ‘Yes, you’re famous as anything,’ she said. ‘You ought to watch out, you’ll have the King here for you next.’

I smiled to myself. There is a part of Daisy that
does
think that, one day, she will have the King congratulating her.

‘Mind you, Miss Alston is a bit odd,’ Hetty went on. ‘Mrs D and I were only talking about it only the other day. Keeps herself to herself – not even any personal bits in her room! She must keep everything in that handbag of hers, but she
never
puts it down.’

‘Really?’ asked Daisy, doing a very good impression of a surprised person. Beanie choked on her tart.

‘
And
all her clothes are new. I think she’s a princess in disguise, and Mrs D thinks she’s a spy.’

‘That was a joke,’ said Mrs Doherty, beginning to peel again without looking down at what her hands were doing. ‘But she is a funny one. When I tried to speak to her about Mr Curtis, she shut up like a clam.’

‘She’s been even more odd since . . . what happened,’ said Hetty, glancing at Kitty and Beanie. ‘She keeps popping up everywhere I go. I’d think I was imagining it, but Mrs D’s noticed it too.’

‘This weekend!’ said Mrs Doherty. ‘Miss A lurking about all over the house, your aunt making the teaspoons go missing, your brother playing that dreadful instrument at all hours, and that poor sweet penniless friend of his, with no good clothes to his name – Hetty’s been darning his socks in secret. And now a dead body in one of the guest rooms! Hetty can’t get in to clean. Infuriating. Your uncle won’t even let us into the dining room to clear the tea. I can only imagine what nasty things are happening to all those cakes, left without a covering. We shall have more rats than ever.’

Kitty was listening with eyes wide and mouth in a greedy O. This was a perfect heaven of gossip for her.

‘How do you know Stephen hasn’t any money?’ asked Daisy.

I shifted uncomfortably. I wished she would leave Stephen alone.

‘I found his wallet in the hall yesterday,’ said Hetty. ‘Of course, I had to open it to know whose it was. All I found inside was tuppence. You lot all drop small coins about like water. You don’t know what they’re for. It takes someone who knows the value of money to keep tuppence.’

‘Hetty, that’s really quite good!’ said Daisy.

‘It’s what they always say in my detective novels,’ said Mrs Doherty. ‘Any detail, no matter how small, may be important.’

‘
Constant vigilance!
’ chorused Hetty and Daisy, beaming at each other.

When Mrs Doherty mentioned small details, I remembered the teacup, the watch and the piece of paper. These were the details that our whole case so far was based on, and this was our chance to find out more about at least one of them.

‘The cup!’ I said to Daisy. Luckily she understood me at once.

‘What cup?’ asked Mrs Doherty.

I took another bite of tart so that I would not have to answer.

‘Hazel’s worried about the things from tea yesterday. She hates rats,’ Daisy said quickly. ‘Is it really
all
still in the dining room? You haven’t tidied it up?’

At that moment Chapman came into the kitchens with a tray of glasses that clinked against each other. He peered around at us as though he wanted to tell us off. ‘What are you doing here, Miss Daisy?’ he asked.