Ти Кинси - Christmas at The Grange - A Lady Hardcastle Mystery (Kindle Single)

‘A very merry Christmas to you, m’dear,’ she slurred. She was a great deal more agreeable with a few festive sherries inside her. ‘I don’t say nearly as often as I should what a fine, fine woman you are. All best wishes for the new year, too.’ She swayed slightly. ‘Here,’ she said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Come over here. Come on.’

She beckoned me over to one of the huge pantries and huffed her way inside. She emerged a moment later with a cloth-covered basket.

‘Shhhh,’ she said as she lifted the cloth to reveal at least a dozen mince pies. She replaced the cloth and tapped the side of her nose.

‘Mum’s the word,’ I said.

I thanked her and said my goodbyes, but not before I’d been treated to yet another hug and a kiss on the cheek.

We turned down the offer of a lift down the hill. This was partly because we felt a desperate need to walk off the after-effects of the enormous lunch, but mostly because Bert was in no condition to drive us. I had last seen him snoring in a wing-backed chair below stairs, with three empty beer bottles on the table beside him.

The sun was setting as we let ourselves back into the house and I put the kettle on for tea.

‘You know,’ said Lady Hardcastle as she settled into a kitchen chair, ‘I think I probably could force at least one of those mince pies down.’

‘I’m so glad you said that,’ I said. ‘I was thinking exactly the same but I didn’t want to appear swinish.’

‘We shall be little piggies together,’ she said.

I set down the teapot and flopped into the chair opposite her.

‘Oink,’ I said, and poured two cups of tea.

‘What do you make of this pendant business?’ she said.

‘I’m sure it’s not the oddest thing we’ve encountered,’ I said. ‘But it would definitely get an honourable mention.’

‘Quite so, quite so.’

‘I presume you went to look at the flowerbed when you disappeared just before lunch,’ I said.

‘I did indeed. It’s a beautifully tended bed save for a set of very clear, very obvious footprints which lead, exactly as predicted, from the grass to the water butt. There are marks on the lid, too, as well as a couple on the wall where he took his first few steps.’

‘If I understand correctly, then,’ I began, ‘a well-dressed gentleman wearing a dark blue worsted suit and dress shoes made his way unseen to the rear of The Grange at dead of night on Christmas Eve. Sir Hector’s insane springer spaniels weren’t alerted, nor were any of the household. The thief crossed a flowerbed, leaving very obvious footprints and shinned up a drainpipe to a first-floor window. The window was unsnibbed, meaning that he was able to lift the sash and enter the room – again without waking anyone, not even the occupant of the room. He left a footprint on the windowsill and a thread from his suit on the frame, as well as a sprinkling of ash at the edge of the carpet. He went straight to the bedside table and took a pearl pendant from a jewellery case there.’

‘And that’s all,’ she said. ‘He disturbed nothing else as far as we know and nothing else is reported as missing. The pendant must have been his target, and somehow he knew exactly where it was.’

‘It’s an inside job, isn’t it?’

‘I can’t imagine it being anything else,’ she said. ‘Pass the mince pies.’

* * *

Boxing Day morning followed much the same pattern as Christmas Day. The duck eggs needed to be eaten and the loaf was on its last legs, so toast was the only reasonable option there. I briefly contemplated baking a fresh one for later, but I wasn’t sure we’d have the time – we were expected back at The Grange, after all.

So we enjoyed the same companionable breakfast as before, but this time without presents.

‘I wasn’t sure I was ever going to eat again after yesterday’s blowout,’ said Lady Hardcastle as she set to work on her second egg. ‘But it’s just made me even hungrier.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘I confess I looked at the tray on my way up and wondered if there was enough food for us both.’

‘We oughtn’t to overdo it, though. It’s likely that Gertie will want to push the boat out again today, even if it’s just so that nothing goes to waste. I think she’d rather see one or more of us burst than let any food spoil for want of eating.’

‘It’s the villagers’ bean-feast today, though,’ I said. ‘We can let them carry the burden.’

She laughed. ‘Listen to us talking about being well fed as if it were a burden. We should be thankful for the bounty. There are still many who go without.’

‘There are,’ I agreed. ‘And I’ll stand beside anyone fighting to make it so that we never have to say that again. But for now my tummy aches at the mere thought of another spread like yesterday’s.’

‘You could always exercise a little restraint, dear.’

‘I could, but we both know that neither of us shall. Our only hope is tying our stays a little looser than fashion demands, and hoping they’ll contain the blast if we do explode.’

‘Best foot forward, then,’ she said. ‘And let’s not forget that we need to keep our eyes open today. You know, I’m not certain how best to proceed with the pendant investigation. Ordinarily we’d be free to draw people to one side and ask them a few searching questions, but I don’t think that option is open to us this time. I have no idea who knows what’s going on, nor who is supposed to know.’

‘That’s a bit peculiar, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘I didn’t know what to make of Lady Farley-Stroud’s pleas for discretion. Would news of a burglar pinching his wife’s necklace really scupper Cornelius Beaufort’s banking career?’

‘I wondered about that, too. Sometimes we just have to take these things at face value, though. If Gertie says it’s so, let’s proceed as though it is. I know nothing of the arcane world of the City of London. People make up stories about sinister secret societies controlling our lives – shady, seldom-glimpsed cabals of the rich and powerful. But the City is an honest-to-goodness secret society hiding in plain sight. Who knows what might constitute a scandal in their eyes?’

‘Who indeed?’ I said. ‘And speaking of an arcane world of mysterious traditions, is there a Boxing Day hunt in these parts?’

‘There’ll be one at Berkeley, I think, and Hector and Gertie used to join it, but they’re past all that sort of energetic caper now. They don’t even keep horses these days.’

‘A shoot, then?’

‘Again, Hector used to organize one. Quite a grand one by all accounts. But his eyesight’s not what it was and Gertie says he knocked it on the head before he hurt someone. I think that’s why they make such a fuss of the bean-feast – it’s the only tradition they can uphold.’

‘The local pheasants and the local peasants can both rejoice,’ I said.

‘Just so. But enough distraction – we must gird ourselves for the fray and sally forth. There’s no shooting, but I think we should dress for the outdoors nevertheless.’

I tidied away the breakfast tray and we were ready to leave within the hour.

* * *

Lady Hardcastle’s instinct had been correct. When we arrived at The Grange, we found the family dressed in tweeds and stout boots as though ready for the non-existent shoot. They met us on the drive, where they stood sipping spirits from pewter cups.

‘Ah, there you are, Emily,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘We were beginning to worry that you might not be here in time.’

‘In time for what, dear?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

‘In time to greet the villagers,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘It’s something Hector dreamed up last year. He says he misses the hunt, but most of all he misses milling about with old chums and taking a nip of something warming before setting off. So he insists we all come out here and stand about in the cold with our stirrup cups to welcome the estate workers and villagers. Of course, we’d prefer to greet them in the hall, and they’d prefer to be in the warm, too, but it keeps the old boy happy so we’ve just accepted it.’