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

However, I made sure to have Hazel comfort her. It is no good to put off clients, and I was most intrigued. I decided to get the obvious questions out of the way first.
    ‘Are you sure it was the right address?’ I asked, when Violet had stopped weeping for a moment.
    ‘Y-yes!’ said Violet, gulping. ‘I made sure it was. And he says his name, there – it
is
Edward, it has to be! I know his handwriting, as well. Why is he lying? Doesn’t he like me any more? Is – what if there is someone else?’
    ‘That can’t be it,’ said Hazel, and frowned. ‘If there was another girl, he simply wouldn’t write back.’
    Hazel can be quite wise sometimes.
    ‘My Vice-President is quite right,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t fit. No, there must be another explanation. Is he ill? Perhaps his mind has gone.’
    ‘He wasn’t ill when I left!’ said Violet. ‘It couldn’t be – so quickly! Oh, but what if it is? Edward!’
    She began to cry again.
    ‘Does he have a twin?’ I asked. I was thinking about what I have read in my crime novels. Twins are often a very useful explanation – although they are rather a cheat. I don’t think much of authors who use them.
    Violet shook her head. ‘He’s an only child!’ she said. ‘Everyone knows it.’
    I wondered about a
secret
twin – and then I saw Hazel’s face, and thought perhaps I was jumping to conclusions. ‘But he’s written you letters before?’ I asked. ‘May we see them?’
    It was, of course, the perfect question. Violet looked hesitant – I knew why, of course, because of all the soppy things that were in them – but at last I told her that if she did not show us, we could not solve her case. She pulled a packet of letters out of her pinafore skirt, going pink. (For some reason, when I looked at Hazel, she had gone rather red herself.)
    She skimmed through them, hardly having to look (they were very creased and thumbed; she had clearly read them very often) and at last chose one to open. Hazel and I peered at it. It was in the same simple schoolboy copperplate as the others we had seen.
    Graves Estate, 14 th August 1935
    My lovely Violet,
    I miss you every moment we are apart. I know I do tease, but I really can’t imagine a world without you. We mustn’t let anything break us apart. After all,
    Love is not love
    Which alters when it alteration finds,
    Or bends with the remover to remove:
    O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
    That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
    It is the star to every wandering bark,
    Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
    Your love,
    E
    It was very soppy, just as I had been expecting. But there was something in it – only a very little thing, but enough for a keen detective mind like mine to be alerted. I felt my brain race. Could it be? If so – why, the case might be over almost before it had begun.
    ‘Violet,’ I said. ‘I have had a thought. Can I come with you, while you use the telephone?’
    ‘But I don’t need to use the telephone,’ said Violet, proving that she was not as clever as me – which, really, is not surprising.
    ‘
Yes you do
,’ I said. ‘Or at least,
you say you do
.’
    ‘She’s got a lead in the case. She wants to phone someone to confirm it,’ whispered Hazel to Violet.
    ‘Oh! Why didn’t you say so before? Meet me at lunch time and I’ll get you into Matron’s office,’ said Violet.
    Hazel made a face at me, which I ignored. She is sometimes far too soft with clients for her own good.
    At lunch time, Violet took me into Matron’s study to use the telephone.
    ‘What shall I say if she asks what we’re doing here?’ she kept on asking, terribly worried. It was an awful bother to keep her focused and explain that as she was a Big Girl, Matron would not even ask.
    I was exhausted by the time I picked up the receiver and heard the operator’s voice.
    ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Fallingford 243, please.’ It is always good to be polite. It makes people wonderfully willing to