Free Murder Most Unladylike: A Wells and Wong Mystery by Robin Stevens

had never heard Miss Tennyson make that kind of threat before. Even last term when Lavinia said King Lear was idiotic, Miss Tennyson had only sighed and looked wounded. This threat was quite out of character, and it had come because Daisy had mentioned Miss Bell.
    Miss Tennyson did not want to talk about Miss Bell, and a poem about graves was making her upset. She had just moved to the very top of our suspect list.

3
    In the afternoon we had Games, which meant I had to stand shivering on the playing field while Daisy and the rest of the sporty girls galloped around and screamed at each other. That day my ankle gave me an excuse to be in defence (although I was not allowed to skip Games altogether – that would not be the Deepdean way), so at least I could shiver in peace while the ball was hammered to and fro in front of me.
    Unfortunately, being in defence meant being next to Lavinia. If it is possible, she is even worse at Games than I am, which makes her terribly sulky. Miss Hopkins has given up on her entirely, so Lavinia just lumps about near goal, glaring at everyone.
    It was a very English afternoon. The air was full of water droplets that clung to our faces and weighed down our clothes, and the grass had turned into a particularly slimy sort of mud. I wrapped my arms round myself and shivered. It was the sort of weather that Daisy loves. She rocketed about the pitch, skirt flapping, and winged the ball at goal so hard that we had to dive out of the way to save ourselves. Miss Hopkins cheered and waved her hockey stick in encouragement. She was still in an astonishingly happy mood.
    I was trying to observe her when Lavinia began to speak to me. ‘Daisy’s annoyingly brilliant, isn’t she?’ she said as she watched Daisy tackle Clementine.
    ‘Daisy’s not annoying!’ I said. ‘She’s just Daisy .’
    ‘Well, you would say that,’ said Lavinia. ‘You’re practically her slave.’
    ‘I am not!’ I said furiously. ‘Daisy’s my best friend.’
    ‘Huh,’ said Lavinia. ‘Some friend. She uses you – haven’t you noticed? And she only took an interest in you because you’re an Oriental. Her uncle is a spy – that’s why foreigners interest her.’
    Now, if it is bad form to show your emotions in England, it is even more so in Hong Kong, so I know I should feel most terribly guilty about what happened next. Unfortunately, I do not feel guilty at all.
    The ball was coming down the field again, with Daisy pounding along after it while Kitty whacked at her stick and tried to trip her up. I watched the ball jump and roll over tufts of muddy grass towards us. Lavinia had not noticed it. Daisy gave the ball one more whack and it arced up in the air and landed just next to Lavinia’s right foot.
    That was enough for me. I launched myself at Lavinia, whirling my hockey stick, and crashed into her as hard as I could. For the second time in a week, I fell down in a tangle of legs and arms and games knickers. ‘Oh!’ I shrieked, sounding as horrified as I could manage.
    Then I scrambled up, making sure that my stick dug into Lavinia’s middle and my knee squashed into her thigh. My shoe scratched down her leg, leaving it streaky with mud. Lavinia kicked back, hard, on my ankle, and I toppled over again.
    ‘Beast!’ panted Lavinia, and scratched me.
    The game had stopped, and Miss Hopkins was running over to us. It turned out that her cheerfulness only stretched so far. ‘HAZEL, NOT AGAIN!’ she bellowed.
    ‘I was trying to get the ball,’ I said. ‘I tripped.’
    Lavinia dragged herself to her feet and pulled me up with her. ‘We both tripped,’ she said, breathing hard. ‘It wasn’t Hazel’s fault.’ That’s the good thing about Lavinia. She can be foully mean, and she’s vicious in a fight, but at least she doesn’t hold grudges afterwards.
    ‘I can see perfectly well that that’s a lie,’ said Miss Hopkins, sighing. ‘Hazel, in this country we do not fight. We are civilized . This is