Mystery & Mayhem. Julia Golding

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      ‘Wait. What about the torn bedlinen?’

      ‘It was a new bed, new linens. I believe the sheets were torn before she slept, to give the impression of an assailant in the room. The maid either did not notice when she made up the bed, or feared blame if it were mentioned.’

      The crowd grumbled.

      ‘Why did the clock strike thirteen?’

      ‘I believe the mechanism was tampered with, to add confusion.’

      ‘What about the wine that got poured away?’

      ‘Oh! That was just wine. And a viscountess being mean.’

      ‘All right, all right, I buy it all so far,’ yelled one of the policemen. ‘But who or what is that hare all about?’

      Emily’s throat was beginning to hurt from shouting, and her boots really were slippery, but to be called upon by an officer of the law urged her on to reveal her proudest deduction.

      ‘That,’ she said loudly, ‘holds the vital clue to why this crime occurred in this way. After all, if you want to kill a viscountess, there are quicker ways than selling her curtains super-impregnated with poison. The word “hare” does not mean hare as in furry rabbity creature, but the beginning of another word. Hareng. It is the French word for “herring”, written in blood. A red herring. I think it was written on the floorboards before the Viscountess moved into the room, and covered up with a rug. The missing letters were wiped away by footfalls – or perhaps missed out all along, to prolong the mystery. For this is why the Viscountess died: to preoccupy the Queen’s Detectives with an impossible case. To give them too many clues to solve. To humiliate them with failure – and to draw them into the same trap. The Deadly Room – which is killing them both while I’m talking! Father? Papa? Please, please come down?’

      The crowd’s faces turned up to the window, to the forgotten Mr Black above.

      Emily met his bright eyes, and saw her father’s chest swell with pride at last.

      ‘Oh! Yes, at once,’ he said, coming back to himself. ‘I mean to say – oh – Lord Copperbole will need a doctor! And no one is to come into this room!’

      Lord Basil Copperbole made a full recovery, and acquired a new coat (demure grey, though the lining was pink and yellow stripes) in time to accompany Miss Emily Black and her father to the palace, where she received a gallantry award for services in the prevention of crime.

      ‘Perhaps some time back in the country, until all this fuss has died down, hmm?’ said Mr Black, peering anxiously from their carriage as they drew up to the old Richmond house and laboratory, to find the usual crowd gathered to catch a glimpse of the Queen’s Detectives and their young protégée.

      ‘A little Sussex air . . . some shopping, of course,’ said Lord Copperbole, clapping his hands.

      ‘Indeed, sir, indeed!’ said Mr Black.

      ‘Aren’t we going to finish the case first?’ asked Emily.

      ‘But you solved it, dearest Emily!’ said her father, squeezing her hands. ‘All those clues . . . solved the lot. Even the ones that weren’t really clues.’

      ‘Yes. Very clever,’ said Lord Copperbole, his cheek twitching with the effort.

      ‘Um. Well, we know how the Viscountess died, Papa. But we haven’t caught who arranged for her to furnish her home with super-impregnated poisonous bedlinen then laid a false trail of clues, all in order to entrap the two of you in the same room and kill you,’ said Emily, quite slowly, to be sure it went in.

      ‘Oh. Oh dear,’ said her father.

      ‘Good heavens,’ said Lord Copperbole. ‘And now we have no clues to go on at all!’

      ‘Apart from the tailor you visited in Paris who made you your coat,’ said Emily. ‘And whoever recommended him.’

      She looked Lord Copperbole in the eye.

      Lord Copperbole clutched his lace handkerchief to his lips. ‘But – you can’t be suggesting . . .’

      ‘She did give you a puzzlebox containing a poisonous tarantula. And I think a cursed scarab beetle before that. I don’t think she intended for it all to help you become a famous detective. Is it possible she doesn’t like you very much?’

      Lord Copperbole’s moustache wilted.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ said Emily. ‘Mary knows Lady Tanqueray’s second footman. If she’s fled the country, he’ll know where her cases have been sent. Shall we go?’

      Her father smiled at her with great warmth.

      ‘My dearest Emily,’ he said. ‘You are becoming quite the detective!’

RAIN ON MY PARADE

       By Elen Caldecott

      It felt just like mini sparklers were fizzing in Minnie Adesina’s arms and legs and elbows and knees. She couldn’t stay in her flat above Mum’s salon on Marsh Road, not with fireworks exploding from her fingers to her feet! Today was Carnival! Car-ni-val. She drawled the word slowly, the way Bernice, one of Mum’s assistants, did in her Kingston accent. Those three syllables turned the road upside-down and left-side-right every year. The regular market was swept away by a swell of sound and colour. She rushed downstairs, ready to see it all.

      It was still early, the summer sun hardly heating the ground, but already the street was full. People in high-vis jackets swung barriers like giant paddles; food vans’ fried onions and spices made her mouth water. At the end of the road, a camera crew and technicians swarmed a temporary stage, tweaking the spotlights on the lighting rig, adjusting the legs of tripods and moving monitors. That would be where the bands played into the evening. But already there was music. From speaker stacks the size of cars, from tiny portable radios, from everywhere, rhythms that made her shoulders leap and roll throbbed and thrummed. Marsh Road was alive with it all.

      ‘Minnie!’

      Flora, one of Minnie’s very best friends, hurtled down the street towards her and grabbed her elbows. Minnie and Flora were part of an investigating team who’d solved more than one mystery on Marsh Road, and seeing her always meant fun and excitement. Then Minnie noticed Flora’s twin, Sylvie, strolling behind. Minnie sighed. Sunny days came with shadows. She smiled at one half of the twins.

      ‘Isn’t this exciting?’ Flora asked, her red hair bouncing as she leapt up and down. ‘I can’t believe Bernice wants us to help her get ready! We’re going to be right at the heart of Carnival this year, with one of its very best costume makers.’

      Minnie glanced at Sylvie. She hadn’t been part of the plan.

      Flora noticed the look, but Sylvie was too busy smiling at the camera crew.

      ‘Is СКАЧАТЬ