Alice-Miranda to the Rescue (2 page)

Sloane Sykes slid into the chair beside Millie and placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the table. ‘I just heard what happened in Science,' she said, looking at Alice-Miranda gleefully.

‘You mean Plumpy's modern art lesson,' Millie said. Judging from the whispers and giggles around the room, everyone else was talking about it as well.

Alice-Miranda's face was blotted with red, which no amount of scrubbing had been able to remove.

‘I told you it was about time he blew something up again, but he's outdone himself today,' Sloane said, rubbing her hands together.

Millie nodded towards the doorway. ‘Look, here he comes.'

Mr Plumpton entered the dining room with Miss Grimm by his side. He was still wearing his lab coat and his entire head was now stained red. The headmistress's high heels tapped across the timber floor as she marched to the podium at the end of the room. Mr Plumpton followed her onto the stage. From the shocked expression on Miss Reedy's face, she hadn't yet seen the results of the prank on her fiancé, either.

‘I give you Detective Grimm and Exhibit A,' Millie whispered in a deep voice. Sloane giggled.

Ophelia Grimm switched on the microphone, which emitted a high-pitched screech. Everyone in the room winced. ‘Good morning, girls and staff. I hope you've all enjoyed Mrs Smith's delicious carrot cake this morning.' Ophelia looked over and nodded at the cook, who was standing at the servery. ‘Because I can tell you I think it is definitely one of her best.'

Doreen Smith smiled at the headmistress uncertainly, wondering exactly what she'd done to deserve this morning's accolades.

‘I think we should all stand and give Mrs Smith a huge round of applause.' Ophelia Grimm began to clap as chairs scraped on the floor and the girls rose to their feet. It wasn't long before they were stamping and cheering, and Mrs Smith's nervous smile grew into a wide grin. ‘Thank you, girls, please sit down,' Miss Grimm directed.

‘What was that for?' Millie eyed the headmistress suspiciously. ‘And why is she just leaving Mr Plumpton standing there like some creepy art exhibit?'

The girls exchanged quizzical looks.

‘I suspect that by now most of you will have heard about the unfortunate incident in the Science laboratory during our second lesson this morning. It seems that someone thought it funny to fill the balloons Mr Plumpton was using for an experiment with red dye, which is now all over Mr Plumpton, the lab and every girl in the class. I don't know why anyone would do such a thing, but they are very fortunate that no one was injured.' Ophelia Grimm was curious as to why the man had thought it was a
good idea to simultaneously light up seven hydrogen balloons in the first place, but she decided to speak to him about that later.

Mr Plumpton pirouetted so that the girls could see every inch of the damage.

Alice-Miranda glanced across the dining room at Caprice, who was sitting with the Head Prefect, Sofia Ridout, and blinking innocently.

Ophelia Grimm paused for a moment, then turned her attention back to the cook. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Smith, what have you got on the menu for lunch today?'

Doreen Smith frowned. ‘Lasagne and salad with treacle pudding for dessert, which reminds me, I'd best pop out and get the pudding started.'

Miss Grimm smiled sweetly. ‘Yes, don't let me keep you.'

‘She's up to something,' Millie whispered. ‘The lunch menu's over there on the wall. Everyone can see it.'

‘Unless, of course, we give you the rest of the day off,' Miss Grimm said.

Doreen Smith stopped in her tracks and turned around. ‘I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't think that's possible. There's no one else to do the cooking.'

Miss Grimm smiled. ‘Oh, it's possible. In fact, it's going to happen if the person responsible doesn't come forward right now.'

‘I knew it!' Millie hissed. ‘She's going to starve us until she finds the culprit.'

‘That's not fair,' Sloane griped loudly. ‘I'm always dying of hunger by lunchtime.'

Miss Grimm shot the girl a look that would bring the most determined of toddler tantrums to an abrupt end. ‘Let's talk about fair, Sloane. Do you think it's fair that girls have missed their lessons and have had to spend the entire time cleaning the Science lab, which will need many more hours of attention? Do you think it's fair that Mr Plumpton and the girls in his class now look as if they're accident victims because that dye takes hours to scrub off? Do you think it's fair that girls at this school behave in a manner that brings the
entire
student body into disrepute?'

Sloane gulped and shook her head.

The headmistress arched an eyebrow at her. ‘No, I didn't think so.'

From the table closest to the servery, Caprice raised her hand in the air. A rustle of whispers ricocheted around the room.

Sloane nudged Millie. ‘I don't believe it.'

Miss Grimm stared at the girl. She wondered if Caprice was about to confess, although from past experience that didn't seem likely. ‘Yes, Caprice?'

The girl pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I know who did it,' she said confidently as she tossed her copper tresses over her shoulder.

‘Do you think she's about to own up?' Sloane whispered.

Millie shook her head. ‘You've got to be kidding.'

‘It was …' Caprice unfurled her pointer finger and directed it across the dining room. ‘Millie.'

The whole room gasped.

Millie looked at the girl, her mouth gaping. ‘Me?!' she yelled, jumping to her feet. ‘No, I didn't!'

‘That's a very serious allegation, Caprice. I hope you have your facts in order,' the headmistress boomed.

Caprice nodded. ‘Of course, Miss Grimm.'

‘She's lying. I didn't do anything,' Millie protested, her voice quivering with rage.

‘I heard her telling Alice-Miranda and Sloane on the way to class that she hoped there weren't any explosions at Science and the three of them were laughing,' Caprice said.

Miss Grimm eyeballed the girl. ‘That hardly proves anything. We all know that Mr Plumpton has a bit of a reputation.'

Josiah's cheeks burned. If it weren't for the red dye, everyone would have seen he was blushing from head to toe.

‘Check her fingernails, Miss Grimm,' Caprice said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I think you'll find all the proof you need.'

Millie's whole body was quaking. ‘You're lying again!' she yelled at the girl.

‘If you have nothing to hide, just come up and prove it,' the headmistress urged.

Millie gulped. She glanced down at her fingers, then clenched her fists into two tight balls.

Alice-Miranda put a hand on her friend's arm. ‘What's the matter?' she asked.

Millie shook her head and shuffled out from the table. She walked up to the podium, her footfalls echoing around the room. Miss Grimm beckoned for Millie to come forward and looked at her expectantly. The girl took a deep breath and laid her palms flat. ‘I can explain,' she said softly.

A veil of disappointment dropped across Miss Grimm's face.

‘Caprice tricked me when we were in Art this morning,' the child blurted. ‘She told me Miss Tweedle needed help putting the dyes into smaller containers.'

‘Now who's lying?' Caprice said, stalking towards the podium. ‘Why would I do that?'

Ophelia Grimm glanced around the room, searching for the Art teacher. A tiny woman, both in height and scale, Verity Tweedle had recently joined the school. Despite her diminutive size, she was already proving to be a forthright member of staff and the girls had quickly learned that she wasn't to be messed with. Miss Grimm located Miss Tweedle, who was sitting at the back of the room with Miss Wall, the PE teacher.

‘Miss Tweedle, could you tell me what activity you had the girls doing in the first lesson today?' the headmistress asked.

‘They were working on linocuts,' Miss Tweedle replied. There was a murmur from the rest of the girls. ‘And no dye was involved whatsoever.'

The students gasped again.

Millie swallowed hard. Miss Tweedle had made her sound like a liar too. It all made sense now – Caprice had tricked her while the teacher was faffing
about with Constance Biggins's cut finger. Caprice had told Millie, who had come in late from her piano lesson, that Miss Tweedle needed assistance sorting out some dyes in the prep room for her next class. She'd wondered why there was no one else helping but she'd already finished her linocut and didn't feel like starting another one. Caprice had just bossed her around and done none of the work.

‘I think you'd better come with me, Millie, and we can discuss this further in my office. You too, Caprice,' Miss Grimm said. She turned to Cook. ‘In light of all this, Mrs Smith, you'd better get on with that pudding.'

‘Of course,' the woman replied. She scuttled into the kitchen, mumbling something about running late.

Chatter erupted as the girls began to speculate about what had really happened and whether or not Millie was guilty. Miss Grimm strode out of the dining room with Millie and Caprice in tow. Caprice turned and smiled at Alice-Miranda as she went out the door.

‘Did you see that?' Sloane said, outraged.

Alice-Miranda nodded. She wondered what Millie had done to be on the receiving end of Caprice's wrath this time.

But Alice-Miranda and Sloane weren't the only ones to spot the girl's contemptuous grin. Josiah Plumpton had witnessed it too.

‘Excuse me, Livinia,' he said to his fiancée, who had just brought him a cup of tea and a slice of cake. ‘I need to speak with the headmistress right away.'

Myrtle Parker's feather duster danced along the skirting boards of the sitting room. As she neared the front window, she stood up and pulled aside the sheer curtain. Her eyes scanned up and down the empty street, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. She glanced around at her beloved Newton, who these days sat pride of place in the centre of the mantel-piece. He hadn't been allowed outside once since he'd returned from his year away. Myrtle clicked her tongue. ‘There's something going on today,' she said to him. ‘I can feel it.'

As always, the garden gnome declined to reply. Myrtle resumed her dusting. She was a proud housekeeper and, now that the sitting room was back to its best, minus the industrial-sized hospital bed where her husband had lain in a coma for over three years, she found the task immeasurably easier. Fortunately, Reginald Parker had woken up some months ago and proved to be in near-perfect health.

Somewhere in the distance, a clattering diesel engine grew louder. Myrtle scurried back to the window just as a convoy of removal vans roared past. They were followed by a silver four-wheel drive towing the longest dog trailer she had ever seen.

‘I knew it!' Myrtle muttered, dropping her duster to the floor. ‘Reginald!' she called. ‘Someone's moving into the house at the end of the road. And they've got
dogs
!'

Her husband was, at that minute, sitting in the kitchen enjoying a quiet cup of tea. He paused as he raised the teacup to his mouth and wondered what he was supposed to say.

‘Did you hear me?' Myrtle screeched. ‘Reginald!'

The old man sighed. He stood up and tipped the last of his tea into the sink, then ambled down the
hallway. ‘Yes, dear,' he answered. ‘What would you like me to do about it?'

The woman let go of the curtain and turned to face her husband. ‘We need to find out about them, of course. We can't be too careful when it comes to who's living in the village, and you know I'm not especially partial to dogs.' Myrtle picked up her feather duster.

‘I think the feeling's mutual,' the man replied.

‘What was that?' she demanded.

‘Nothing, dear.' Reginald Parker took a deep breath. He thought he might as well tell her and get it over with, although he was surprised she hadn't heard all about the newcomers on the village grapevine. ‘They're breeders.'

Myrtle frowned. ‘I didn't see any children in the car.'

Reginald chuckled. ‘Dog breeders, Myrtle.'

‘Oh, how do you know that?' the woman asked.

‘I saw a sign for their kennel go up yesterday when I went for my walk.'

‘What sort of dogs do they have? Not those savage bull pits, I hope.' The woman blanched at the thought. ‘Or rottweilers. We can't have any dangerous dogs in the village. I won't allow it.'

Reg ignored his wife's histrionics. As far as he knew, he lived with the only rottweiler in the village. ‘No need to worry yourself, dear. They breed Afghan hounds.'

‘But they're
huge
!'

‘They're lovely dogs,' Reg said. ‘At least they are to look at.'

Myrtle set aside the feather duster and picked up a can of furniture polish. ‘They'd better not be barkers,' she blustered. She sprayed the sideboard and rubbed it vigorously with a cloth. ‘We can't be woken at all hours by constant yapping.'

‘No, dear.' Reg doubted the dogs could be any worse than his wife's constant yapping. As for being woken in the middle of the night, Myrtle, who had been a stickler for her eight hours' sleep prior to his accident – not a minute more or less – now woke every hour on the hour. These days they slept in separate beds in the same room. Her waking wouldn't have worried Reg except that the woman had taken to prodding him with an old telescopic television aerial she kept by the side of her bed to make sure that he was still breathing. He supposed, after having been in a coma for the better part of three and a half years, he couldn't really blame her, although there
were some days he wondered if he mightn't have had a more peaceful existence if he'd stayed asleep.

‘Here, you finish the polishing and I'll get started on a cake,' she said, handing her husband the cloth and can of spray.

‘Don't you think you should give them a day or two to unpack and settle in?' he asked.

Myrtle looked at him as if he were mad. ‘Absolutely not. I don't want them to think they've moved into a snooty village,' she replied. ‘Everyone is welcome in Winchesterfield, even if they do breed overly large dogs. Besides, I have to make sure they will be properly contained.'

Reg raised an eyebrow. ‘Everyone's welcome, are they? I didn't see you rushing off to welcome the Singhs when they arrived.'

‘Oh, that was years ago. You know I love a curry as much as the next person,' Myrtle said. ‘Except vindaloo – there should be a law against that.'

The man stifled a grin as he recalled his wife's petition to close down the new curry house in the village before it had even opened. Myrtle had argued that the smell of the curries would overpower the fresh air that their little pocket of countryside was renowned for, but Reg suspected it had as much to
do with her fear of the unfamiliar as anything else. To everyone's great surprise, Indira Singh and Myrtle Parker had bonded over a mutual love of organising. Indira went on to become head of the local garden club and often asked for Myrtle's help with planning events. Myrtle had just invited her onto the Show Society Committee too.

‘Well, don't just stand there,' Myrtle said, eye balling her husband. ‘We've got work to do.'