At The Plaza Majestic.

Chapter 1

It was a lazy, dreary, hot summer's afternoon. The whole of London had slipped into a dull, sticky sort of haze, with everything dragging its feet along the street or crawling from house to house, the heat of the sun and the thick, sooty smoke from the factories blanketing everything and everyone.

Sadly, this haze hadn't found its way to the inside of 15A Praed Street, which had been all morning and continued to be complete pandemonium.

"Allie!" Isabel yelled, for the hundredth time.

"I'm doing the best I can, Izzy!" I shouted back from the kitchen. "Cakes can't bake themselves, same way carpets can't clean themselves! You're supposed to be helping, so help!"

"I've got to get changed!" Isabel argued from the lounge. "I can't be in this tatty old thing when he arrives!"

"Well, do the carpet, or even half the carpet, I don't care!" I snapped. "Just stop flapping and get something done! Even better, get the duster out! I don't think the mantlepiece has been dusted at all this year."

"This year?" Isabel screeched. "Oh, no!"

"Izzy!" I yelled. "Just do something! Anything! Make my life easier for after I get this cake in!"

"Have you seen the china tea set?" Isabel asked, poking her head through the kitchen door. I gasped.

"Izzy, look at you! You're an absolute mess! There's dirt on your nose and your hair's sticking up like a hedgehog! Leave everything and get yourself clean!" I scolded. Isabel groaned desperately and ran away upstairs. I finally got the cake in the oven, and looked at how much time I had. The cake would be done in half an hour, and Deputy Inspector Fisher wouldn't be arriving for another twenty minutes after that. I sighed. I had practically an hour to clean. What was Isabel getting so stressed about?

I left the cake and hurried into our sitting room, decisively picking up the duster. Chances are, Fisher wasn't going to look at the mantelpiece when he actually did arrive, but I wasn't taking any chances, and besides, I hadn't a clue where to start. I began to clean, but soon Isabel's voice came echoing down the stairs again.

"I don't know what to wear!"

I groaned aloud, nearly knocking a vase over in my frustration.

"Blue muslin or cream muslin!" I suggested.

"That's awfully dressy!" Isabel shouted back.

"Put a shawl over it or something, then!" I yelled up the stairs, opening the living room door so I could hear my sister better.

"No!" Isabel called. "I think I'll wear the white and pink one I got for my last birthday." she added.

"Over my dead body!" I hollered. "You're not wearing that dress today!"

"Why on earth not?" Isabel complained. I had cut a few sneaky corners with the dusting, and was now beating the rug out of the window.

"Granted, it's very good for family gatherings, Izzy, and we all know Aunt Hilda loves when you wear it, but frankly, it makes you look like a strawberry meringue and I don't think that is the impression you want to be giving here!" I replied firmly, dragging the rug back inside the house and lying it back on the hearth.

"A what?" Isabel screeched again.

"Pick a different dress!" I shouted, looking around the room to see if there was anything else I could clean. The sofa and the chair looked a terrible state, so I pulled all the cushions off them and began to plump them.

"Like what?" Isabel asked. I sighed.

"Ugh, I don't know, perhaps that cream and light blue one you bought last month?" I asked, going for the only other dress I knew my sister still had.