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

ALSO BY T E KINSEY

The Lady Hardcastle Mysteries

A Quiet Life in the Country

In the Market for Murder

Death Around the Bend

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 © 2017 by 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 Amazon Publishing, Seattle

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eISBN: 9781503956971

Cover design by Lisa Horton

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

Lady Farley-Stroud set her cup and saucer down with a clatter. The occasional table beside the armchair in our drawing room wobbled precariously under the impact.

‘I shan’t hear another word on the matter,’ she said. ‘You shall both come up to The Grange for Christmas.’

‘But, Gertie, dear—’ began Lady Hardcastle.

‘Butts are for storing rainwater in the garden, Emily. You’re not going to sit down here on your own while the rest of our family and friends are swaying away on the top-ropes up at the big house.’

Lady Hardcastle sighed. ‘You know I want to—’

‘But you’re afraid of placing even more of a burden on us. I know. You’re the kindest and most thoughtful person I know, m’dear, but you should just let Hector and me worry about the money. Actually, we’ll let Clarissa worry about it. She can sell the place when we’re dead and buried – that should settle all our debts, pay the death duty, and leave her enough for a slap-up feed to wish us on our way. As long as she goes easy on the slap-up feed.’

It was a sign of how thoroughly I’d been accepted by Lady Farley-Stroud that she felt able to make jokes about her financial circumstances in front of a ‘mere’ lady’s maid like me.

‘Tell you what,’ she continued, ‘if you can get hold of a couple of geese and a crate of ale for the villagers, we’ll call it quits. Honour will be satisfied, and I can have the company of my dear friend at the most fractious time of the year. Goodness knows I’ll need an ally with Hector’s sister, Joyce, there. My own sister can only do so much to assist me, and Joyce will be the living end without a chum to guard my other flank.’

‘We can’t have that,’ said Lady Hardcastle. She paused a moment, and then sighed with resignation. ‘We shall be delighted to join you. I shall seek out the required tribute and see that you’re properly goosed in plenty of time.’

‘I say!’ said Lady Farley-Stroud with a surprisingly girlish giggle. ‘And you, Armstrong – you’re to come as a guest, not a servant.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ I said. ‘But are you sure? What about Edna and Miss Jones?’

‘They’ll get their own invitations as villagers, of course. We invite everyone up for a meal and a drink on Boxing Day. We give the children a little something. But you, m’girl, shall be with family and friends. The villagers know you well enough now to think nothing of it, especially after all the things you’ve done for them. And it will do our relatives a bit of good to be scandalized.’

‘Oh, I can scandalize with the best of them, if you’re sure that’s what you want,’ I said.

‘As outrageous as you dare,’ she said. ‘So that’s settled?’

‘Yes, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Thank you.’

Lady Farley-Stroud struggled to her feet. ‘Splendid,’ she said. ‘I’d best be on my merry way. Lots to do, lots to do. Thank you for the tea, dear.’

Lady Hardcastle stood, too. ‘You’re welcome to drop in and drink our tea any time, you know that.’

‘Y’see? How could I not return such generous hospitality?’

I rose to see her to the door.

‘I’ll find my own way out,’ she said, waving me back down. ‘Don’t mind me. You just hunt out your most comely frocks for the festivities and we’ll see you on Christmas Eve.’

Giving a cheery wave, she swept out of the room accompanied by the rustling of her voluminous skirt.

‘I say,’ she called from the hallway. ‘Which coat is . . . As you were – I see it now. Cheerio, m’dears.’

The door slammed behind her and she was gone.

‘So much for a quiet Christmas at home,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

‘We had a quiet Christmas last year,’ I said.

‘Only because I’d been shot. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as I’d have liked.’

‘Well, this will be fun, too. We’ve never had a proper country Christmas. We’ve celebrated in London, Shanghai, Calcutta, Paris . . .’

‘We have,’ she said. ‘And that peculiar time in Berlin with Count Pfumpfel von Schnerfenflerf.’

‘I’m reasonably certain that wasn’t his name,’ I said. ‘But I agree it was a most peculiar affair. Wasn’t there a boar hunt at one point?’

‘Indoors,’ she said. ‘With his grandchildren standing in as boars.’

‘With papier-mâché tusks.’

‘How on earth did we smuggle you into that one?’

‘I was posing as your pal,’ I said. ‘I was Lady Philomena Fitzwilliam-Barratt, mining heiress and girl-about-town. We were trying to pinch some papers from some dreary Prussian colonel or other.’

‘Good lord, so we were. Didn’t his wife slap you?’

‘There was a . . . slight disagreement,’ I said. ‘She objected to the overly familiar way I was talking to the colonel, and I objected to her trying to slap my face.’

‘She ended up on her backside on the ballroom floor.’

‘She must have slipped,’ I said, innocently.

‘We have had some fun, haven’t we?’

‘Always,’ I said. ‘And Christmas at The Grange will be just as much fun.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she agreed. ‘We’d better get ourselves organized. What was Gertie’s shopping list again?’

‘Two geese and a crate of ale,’ I said. ‘For the villagers.’

‘Oh, I think we can do better than that. They’ll need more than one crate of ale for the villagers. And two geese isn’t nearly enough. Half a dozen? We should add a side of beef and a couple of cases of champagne for the big house. Better make it half a dozen cases – do you remember that awful stuff they had at Clarissa’s engagement party? And a couple of turkeys. Oh, and some brandy. And port. We should get them some Bordeaux for the beef. And Burgundy if you do manage to get any turkeys this late in the day. Although they’ll probably have their own. So get Burgundy, anyway. And something sweet to go with the pudding. Sauternes? And get some sherry from Harvey’s – it’s not Christmas without sherry.’

‘I’ll telephone the wine merchant,’ I said.

‘Good girl. There’s only a week to go so I think you might have to find a butcher in town. I doubt Fred Spratt will have geese and beef to spare.’

She was probably right, but I planned to visit Fred in the morning, anyway. I always liked to support the local shopkeepers and I thought I’d at least give him a chance. ‘Leave it to me,’ I said to her retreating back as she left the room. ‘We’ll do them proud.’