T Kinsey - Death Around the Bend (A Lady Hardcastle Mystery Book 3)

Lady Hardcastle was sitting at a small desk by the window, writing in what appeared to be her journal, and while I made a start on the unpacking, she continued with her writing.

The room’s furniture was the traditional country house hotchpotch of styles. The aristocracy didn’t really go in for buying furniture; they inherited most of it, and bought only the individual items they felt they lacked. So the bed (a monumental construction of carved mahogany) didn’t match the wardrobe (delicate and fussy with an inlaid flower motif), which didn’t match the writing desk and chair (Louis XVI with fiddly gold bits). The tallboy looked newer, and the washstand might have been bought that year. Somehow, though, when it was all set against the wonderful green wallpaper, it didn’t seem at all wrong. I got closer to the wallpaper to take a better look.

‘William Morris,’ said Lady Hardcastle, who had noticed my perusal.

‘I thought it might be,’ I said carelessly.

‘Don’t fib,’ she said. ‘It’s called “Larkspur”, and I’m surprised to see it here, to be honest. Someone in the Codrington line must have had artistic ambitions.’

‘You’ve seen it before?’ I said.

‘A tutor at Cambridge had it in his drawing room. His wife was a rather gifted artist herself. She was very proud of her William Morris paper, but it’s not the sort of thing earls buy.’

‘Well, I’m glad someone did,’ I said. ‘I like it.’

‘Me too.’ She finally put down her pen. ‘What’s it like below stairs?’

‘Huge and surprisingly quiet, but that might just be because I didn’t see the busy parts. The butler seems friendly.’

‘Spinney,’ she said absently, as she looked out of the window.

‘The very same. How did you . . . ?’

‘Fishy – I suppose I ought to get used to calling him that; everyone else does – Fishy gave me all the gup on the staff.’

‘The “gup”, my lady?’

‘The gup, the gossip, the tittle and, what’s more, the tattle.’

‘I’ve never heard the word before,’ I said, folding a shawl into a drawer.

‘Really? My father used it all the time.’

‘Ah, that would explain it.’

‘Old-fashioned, you think?’

‘A tiny bit, my lady. Upon whom else were you vouchsafed “the gup”?’

‘Goodness, Flo, I was pleased enough with myself for recalling the name of the butler. You expect me to remember everyone else as well?’

‘Sorry, my lady. I sometimes forget that your poor old mind is ravaged by creeping senility.’

‘Indeed it is, dear, indeed it is. There was something about the cook, who’s an absolute poppet, apparently, but don’t ask me her name. Young Morgan Coleman has made quite an impression with his chauffeuring and mechanic-ing, but I’d surmised as much for myself. He mentioned the housekeeper . . . Mrs . . . Mrs . . . Mrs McSomething, I think.’

‘You’ve done well, my lady,’ I said. ‘And you’ve remembered many of their names into the bargain.’

‘As fly as ever, me, dear. He did also say when dinner was, but I’ve quite forgotten.’

‘Eight, my lady. Informal.’

‘Oh,’ she said forlornly.

‘You don’t like black tie, my lady?’

‘Oh, I don’t care what everyone wears,’ she said. ‘I was just dismayed that it’s such a long way off – I’m starving.’

‘Shall I see if I can get cook to knock up a sandwich for you?’

‘It’s tempting, but then I shan’t want dinner. I shall have to endure.’

‘You’re a brave little trouper, my lady.’

‘I bally well am, at that,’ she said, finally deciding to pitch in and help with the unpacking. ‘Shall you be eating in the servants’ hall?’

‘I’ve been offered supper in my room,’ I said.

‘Have you, by crikey? Will you avail yourself?’

‘I rather think I shall, my lady. I quite like the idea of a peaceful evening in with a hearty meal and an edifying book.’

‘What a splendid idea,’ she said, making such a thorough pig’s ear of hanging up a dress that I gently took it from her and gestured for her to resume her seat by the window.

Once everything was put away, it was time for Lady Hardcastle to ready herself for dinner. Having ensured that she was shipshape and fully Bristol fashion, I took my leave and vanished once more into the maze of servants’ stairs and corridors.

After less than ten minutes’ wandering, I managed to find my way back to the hall, which was by now a hive of activity. Mr Spinney saw me milling about, and took a break from instructing a junior footman on the best way to remove a spot from the sleeve of his jacket to come over to see me.

‘Is everything to your mistress’s satisfaction?’ he asked kindly.

‘It is, thank you,’ I replied.

‘Splendid. Is there anything else we can do for her?’

‘No, I think everything is in hand,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you might send someone up later to put her trunks and cases into your luggage room?’

‘Of course, of course. And how about you? Is there anything we can do for you?’

‘You’re most kind. Are you absolutely sure about your kind offer of supper in my room, though? Would the rest of the staff think me too rude? I shouldn’t want anyone to think that I didn’t want to eat with you, but the luxury of an evening entirely to myself seems too good to pass up.’

‘Not at all, not at all,’ he said with a smile. ‘They’re a welcoming lot, but dinner can get a bit boisterous, and I can perfectly understand that you might not want to have to deal with that after a long day’s travelling. I’ll have someone bring you a tray when we’ve finished serving upstairs. Have you been shown to your room?’

‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure it can’t be difficult to find. I’ll just keep heading upwards until I find a room with my case in it.’

‘That’s the ticket. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to young Billy and his grubby sleeve.’

I smiled my thanks, and set off back the way I’d come and up the stairs. This time, though, I passed by the first floor landing and carried on upwards towards what I presumed were the servants’ quarters at the top of the house. I finally emerged into a plainly decorated, yet oddly cosy corridor, and walked towards the only open door, at the far end, on the left. Sure enough, there was my suitcase next to a sturdy iron bedstead by the window. Another bed stood nearer the door, and both had been made up with crisp fresh linen and warm-looking blankets.

I unpacked my things and settled into the armchair in the corner with my copy of H G Wells’s The Time Machine , which I thought was well overdue to be reread.

Chapter Three

I slept like a countess. If a countess had fallen on hard times and had taken to working as a lady’s maid, that is. My accommodations were at the more luxurious end of the servants’ scale, though, so I had no cause to grumble or gripe – I had slept a great deal more comfortably than many.

I readied myself for the day, and set off down the secret stairway to see if I could scare up a pot of tea for Lady Hardcastle. The approved procedure in most country houses would be for me to make my way to the servants’ hall and wait for her to ring for me, but Lady Hardcastle was unimpressed by such ostentatious displays of status, and preferred a cuppa and a chat while she gathered herself together.

The kitchen, once I found it, was alive with efficient industry, and I introduced myself at once to the cook.

‘Good mornin’ my dear,’ said the cheerful, plump queen of the kitchen. ‘I’m Mrs Ruddle. Welcome to Codrington. Did you sleep well?’

‘I did, thank you, Mrs Ruddle. And thank you for the delicious supper you sent up. I don’t know when I’ve been so well looked after. I hope no one thought me above my buttons for not joining you all down here.’