T Kinsey - In the Market for Murder (A Lady Hardcastle Mystery Book 2)

ALSO BY T E KINSEY

THE LADY HARDCASTLE MYSTERIES

A Quiet Life in the Country

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2016 T E Kinsey

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

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ISBN-13: 9781503938298

ISBN-10: 1503938298

Cover design by Lisa Horton

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

About the Author

1

I was pleased as Punch on that glorious spring morning when Lady Hardcastle finally said, ‘Come on then, Flo, what about a nice Wednesday walk?’

It had been a difficult winter. She had seemed to recover quickly from the shooting the previous summer, but after another dangerous adventure in the autumn, she had suffered a severe relapse.

This time she had recovered much more slowly. It was only now that the spring of 1909 had arrived that both body and mind had healed sufficiently for her to feel able to recommence our regular walks through the fields, lanes and woods around our Gloucestershire home.

‘I should be delighted, my lady,’ I said, getting up. ‘I shall fetch your coat.’

‘And boots, hat, gloves and stick, please, dear,’ she called as I went out into the hall. ‘And a flask of brandy. And . . .’

I returned with the required items. ‘Would you like me to carry you as well, my lady?’

‘I say, what a good idea,’ she said. ‘But if you’re doing that, could we pop into the village, too – we could pick up a few things from the shops.’

It was good to have her back.

We settled on the idea of a stroll into the village and set off down the lane towards the green. The trees were already in bud and I was still blissfully incapable of identifying any of them. The sunshine was weak and the temperature was struggling to reach the bearable side of chilly, but there was a definite promise in the air of the summer yet to come.

We walked slowly, with Lady Hardcastle relying rather more on her stick than I thought she would – her wound had been fully healed for quite a while. We had also been doing the gentle exercises we had learned in China to try to return the strength and flexibility that she could so easily have lost for good.

‘Might I ask you a personal question, my lady?’ I said as we rounded the last bend and the village green came in sight.

‘What an odd thing to say,’ she said. ‘Of course you may.’

‘That stick,’ I said. ‘How much do you really need it?’

‘For walking? Hardly at all. Fit as a flea, me, dear thing, fit as a flea.’

‘And yet . . . ?’ I said.

‘Ah, yes. Well. Now. You see, there’s the thing. I still sort of feel I need it. For show, you understand.’

‘Not entirely, my lady, no. If it’s not helping you to walk, what use is it?’

‘It’s a sort of badge, I suppose you’d call it. People have been so kind and solicitous over the past months that I would feel something of a fraud to go skipping into the village like a schoolgirl. I felt I needed something that might reassure people that their concerns were well founded and that I really was as poorly as they thought.’

‘You nearly died. Isn’t that poorly enough?’ I said indignantly. I could still vividly remember the long bedside vigils I shared with her brother, Harry, while we wondered whether she would ever wake.

‘Yes, dear, of course,’ she said, patting my arm with her free hand. ‘But they didn’t see the immediate aftermath, they just heard what had happened. I just feel they need a little visual clue that all was once rather serious but that it’s getting slowly better.’

‘I’m still not sure I understand, my lady,’ I said. ‘But if it makes you feel better, then by all means carry on. It makes progress a little slow, but I suppose it will make an excellent cudgel if things cut up rough.’

‘That’s the spirit. Though I doubt we’ll meet any footpads at the butcher’s.’

‘I don’t know, my lady,’ I said. ‘Them’s strange folk in these rural villages. They can turn on strangers.’

She laughed. ‘We’re still strangers, do you think?’

‘Actually, I really don’t think we are any more, my lady, no.’

‘I don’t think so either. But just to be on the safe side, we shall avoid Mr Spratt’s butcher’s shop and make instead for the pub. I wonder if Old Joe would make us a cup of tea.’

‘Tea, my lady? At the pub? What a peculiar notion. If you fancy tea, perhaps we should see if we can rustle up a lift from someone to go to the tea shop in Chipping Bevington?’

‘You’re probably right, but it’s a bit of a trek just for tea. How about some nice fresh buns from Mr Holman and you can make the tea when we get home?’

‘Very well, my lady.’

‘Splendid. Come then, tiny servant. To the bakery.’

We made our slow progress around the green, which was still too dew-damp to walk across at our slow pace. We were just about to enter Mr Holman’s bakery when we were hailed.

‘I say, Emily! How wonderful to see you up and about.’

It was Lady Farley-Stroud, the local landowner’s wife, whom we had known since we moved to Littleton Cotterell. Strictly speaking, Lady Hardcastle had met her thirty-six years before that – the Farley-Strouds had been friends of her parents – but she had been only four years old so she had no memory of the encounter. Gertrude, Lady Farley-Stroud, gave every appearance of being a formidable old battleaxe, but we knew another side of her. Once you got past her social armour she turned out to be a charming, amiable and ever-so-slightly dotty old lady of the sort that made for a splendid aunt but a thoroughly embarrassing mother.

‘Good morning, Gertie,’ said Lady Hardcastle with a smile.

‘It’s a joy to see you, m’dear,’ said the older lady, kissing Lady Hardcastle’s cheek. ‘And you, too, Armstrong. Is she treating you well? Don’t forget there’s always a job for you up at The Grange if you tire of the dangerous life.’

‘Passing well, my lady,’ I said. ‘She can be cruel and demanding at times, but a maid has to do her duty.’

Lady Farley-Stroud gave her hearty laugh. ‘Jolly good. But now that you’re back on your feet, m’dear, you really must come for dinner at The Grange. Could do with some company. Hector and I just rattle about the place. Do say you’ll come.’

‘I should love to, Gertie, really I should.’

‘Splendid. I shall consult “the lord of the manor”.’

Even I could see the ironic quotation marks hanging in the air as she said it, but there was affection in her voice. There was no doubt who really ran The Grange, but they were a charming old couple and obviously still terribly devoted to each other.

‘Thank you, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle warmly. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

‘Splendid, splendid— I say!’ she said abruptly as a thought struck her. ‘I’ve had the most wonderful idea. Have you ever been to a cattle market?’