The Case of the Blue Violet: A Murder Most Unladylike Mini Mystery by Robin Stevens

This is the account of a case that I solved almost entirely on my own. It seemed very puzzling at first (at least, some people were puzzled) but I solved it as quick as anything. That is because I am the Honourable Daisy Wells, President of the Detective Society. I am fourteen at the moment, in the fourth form at Deepdean School for Girls. This is a bother, as it means I have to pretend to be an ordinary schoolgirl. But soon I shall be twenty, and then I shall become the world’s greatest consulting detective, like Sherlock Holmes, only real. I shall set up my own detective agency with Hazel Wong. She is my Vice-President, and I suppose my best friend too, although that sounds less official. I haven’t asked her yet, but I’m quite sure she’ll agree. Hazel is a very good sort of person, a true brick. Sometimes she does think for herself rather, just as though she ran the Detective Society instead of me, but I have tried to train her out of it. Largely she does listen.
    Hazel usually writes down our cases (we have had three real murders so far, as well as quite a few littler ones, which is far more than most grown-ups), but I have been telling her that if I wanted to, I could note one down as well. Hazel didn’t believe me at the time. She made Hazel’s Disbelieving Face, which is pursed lips and very straight eyebrows, and I’m sure she thought that was the end of it. Now, though, I mean to prove her wrong. I shall write down the Case of the Blue Violet (that is my name for it, and I think it very good and quite amusing) just as well as she could, and twice as quickly. Hazel always spends far too long describing people talking to each other, and when I read her notes I have to skim.
    Hazel is leaning over my shoulder and looking disapproving again as she reads what I have written. I don’t know why – I am only being truthful. As I was saying, this is the story of one of our cases. It is not a murder (which is a pity), but it is rather interesting. It is about what happened when one of the prettiest Big Girls, Violet Darby, came up to me at bunbreak a week after the beginning of term and said, ‘Please help me, Daisy Wells. I’m in the most dreadful trouble, and you are my only hope!’
    Hazel (still leaning) says that I am inventing that. Well, perhaps Violet did not say those words exactly – but she
was
upset, and she
did
ask for my help. Now, it is true that the Detective Society is secret. At least, it is
supposed
to be, although I am concerned that
some
members may
not be as good as I am
at keeping it so. But Violet knew about it, and about me, for one very good reason: her cousin is King Henry. King Henry, whose real name is Henrietta Trilling, used to be our Head Girl last year, and we helped her during our first real case, the Murder of Miss Bell. (You may read about
that
in one of Hazel’s casebooks, the one with the blue cover.) Quite obviously, King Henry had reason to recommend our services, and so when the problem of the letter arose, Violet knew that I was absolutely the best person at Deepdean to ask. And Hazel too, of course.
    After she had approached us and asked for our help, Violet was quite upset. She stood there squashing her bun in her hands instead of eating it. We – Hazel, mostly – got Violet to calm down and sat her down on the wall. Then, once she had stopped hiccupping and wiping her cheeks, I told her to explain herself.
    This is the story she gave us. I am not embroidering this part, because the facts in the case are vitally important for a detective to understand. And I must explain properly, so you can see how I got to my conclusion.
    Violet Darby lives in Gloucestershire, on a country estate quite like Fallingford (my family’s house). In July of this year, her father sent her over to the Graves Estate, next-door-but-one, to meet its new owner, Lord Graves. Now, ‘Lord Graves’ is not really a name. Just like Daddy, who is called Lord Hastings as well as George Wells, it is