Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

‘I don’t prattle,’ said Bets indignantly. ‘And I don’t expect she’d tell me anything at all. I’m sure she’s in this business of keeping everything secret from us. She wouldn’t even tell us yesterday that Gladys had gone.’

‘Well, anyway, see what you can do,’ said Fatty. ‘She’s fond of knitting, isn’t she? Well, haven’t you got a bit of tangled up knitting you could take down to her and ask her to undo for you - pick up the stitches or whatever you call it? Then you could sort of prat... er - talk to her about Gladys and Goon and so on.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Bets. ‘I’ll go downstairs to her this afternoon when she’s sitting down resting. She doesn’t like me messing about in the morning.’

So that afternoon Bets went down to the kitchen with some very muddled knitting indeed. She had been planning earnestly what to say to Mrs. Moon, but she felt very nervous. Mrs. Moon could be very snappy if she wanted to.

There was no one in the kitchen. Bets sat down in the rocking-chair there. She always liked that old chair. She rocked herself to and fro.

From the back-yard came two voices. One was Mrs. Moon’s and the other was Mrs. Cockles’s. Bets hardly listened - but then she suddenly sat up.

‘Well, what I say is, if a girl gets a nasty letter telling her things she wants to forget, and no name at the bottom of the letter, it’s enough to give anyone a horrid shock!’ came Mrs. Moon’s voice. ‘And a nasty, yes right-down nasty thing it is to do! Writing letters and putting no name at the bottom.’

‘Yes, that’s a coward’s trick all right,’ said Mrs. Cockles’s cheerful voice. ‘You mark my words, Mrs. Moon, there’ll be more of those nonnimus letters, or whatever they calls them - those sort of letter-writers don’t just stop at the one person. No, they’ve got too much spite to use up on one person, they’ll write more and more. Why, you might get one next!’

‘Poor Gladys was right-down upset,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘Cried and cried, she did. I made her show me the letter. All in capital letters it was, not proper writing. And I said to her, I said, “Now look here, my girl, you go straight off to your mistress and tell her about this. She’ll do her best for you, she will.” And I pushed her off to Mrs. Hilton.’

‘Did she give her her notice?’ asked Mrs. Cockles.

‘No,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘She showed Mr. Hilton the letter, and he rang up Mr. Goon. That silly, fussing fellow! What do they want to bring him in for !’

‘Oh, he’s not so bad,’ said Mrs. Cockles’s cheerful voice. ‘Just hand me that broom, will you? Thanks. He’s all right if he’s treated rough. I don’t stand no nonsense from him, I don’t. I’ve cleaned for him now for years, and he’s never had a harsh word for me. But my, how he hates those children!’

‘Ah, that’s another thing,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘When Mr. Hilton told him about this here letter, he was that pleased to think those kids knew nothing about it - and he made Master and Mistress promise they’d not let those five interfere. And they promised. I was there, holding up poor Gladys, and I heard every word. “Mrs. Hilton,” he said, “Mrs. Hilton, madam, this is not a case for children to hinterfere in and I must request you, in the name of the law, to keep this haffair to yourselves.” ’

‘Lawks!’ said Mrs. Cockles. ‘He can talk grand when he likes, can’t he? I reckon, Mrs. Moon, maybe there’s been more of these letters than we know. Well, well - so poor Gladys went home, all upset-like. And who’s going to come in her place, I wonder? Or will she be coming back?’

‘Well, it’s my belief she’d better keep away from this village now,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘Tongues will wag, you know. I’ve got a niece who can come next week, so it won’t matter much if she keeps away.’

‘What about a cup of tea!’ said Mrs. Cockles. ‘I’m that thirsty with all this cleaning. These rugs look a fair treat now, Mrs. Moon.’

Bets fled as soon as she heard footsteps coming in at the scullery door. Her knitting almost tripped her up as she went. She ran up the stairs and into the playroom, panting. Pip was there, reading and waiting for her.

‘Pip! I’ve found out everything, simply everything!’ cried Bets. ‘And there is a mystery to solve - a kind we haven’t had before.’

Sounds of laughter floated up from the drive. It was the others coming. ‘Wait a bit,’ said Pip, excited. ‘Wait till the others come up. Then you can tell the whole lot. Golly, you must have done well, Bets!’

The others saw at once from Bets’ face that she had news for them. ‘Good old Bets!’ said Fatty. ‘Go on, Betsy. Spill the beans!’

Bets told them everything. ‘Somebody wrote a nonnimus letter to Gladys,’ she said. ‘What is a nonnimus letter, Fatty?’

Fatty grinned. ‘You mean an anonymous letter, Bets,’ he said. ‘A letter sent without the name of the sender at the bottom - usually a beastly cowardly sort of letter, saying things that the writer wouldn’t dare to say to any one’s face. So poor Gladys got an anonymous letter, did she?’