T Kinsey - A Picture of Murder (A Lady Hardcastle Mystery Book 4)

She laughed. ‘That all makes Nanny’s jack-o’-lantern seem rather tame. A clumsily carved turnip with a candle inside and a dire warning not to have anything to do with witches pales by comparison.’

‘You Londoners with your city ways,’ I said, still in the role of ghostly storyteller. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

She laughed again. ‘Saint-Saëns, perhaps?’ she said. ‘“Danse Macabre” should fit the bill nicely. Or Mussorgsky? I’m sure I have “Night on Bald Mountain” somewhere. Or perhaps both. Or neither. They’re both quite tricky.’

I settled back into my armchair and closed my eyes, losing myself in the music. They were, indeed, both rather tricky, but she managed them with her usual accomplished ease.

It was midnight by the time we retired and I took two lighted candles with me as I went to bed. One can never be too careful on Nos Galan Gaeaf.

Chapter Two

As is so often the way after a late night, I was awake at a disappointingly early hour. By the time Edna and Miss Jones let themselves in by the side door, I already had the range lit and the kettle on. I was setting the copper laundry tub to boil as they came in to the kitchen.

‘Mornin’, Miss Armstrong,’ said Edna cheerfully. ‘Y’ere, that’s kind of you, thank you. There’s not many lady’s maids as would get the washing goin’. Much appreciated, my lover, I’m sure.’

‘It’s no bother,’ I said. ‘But I confess I do have an ulterior motive for wanting to get in both your good books.’

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘You remember our conversation yesterday?’ I continued. ‘You were saying you wouldn’t mind a little extra work.’

‘So long as it’s proper work,’ she reminded me. ‘I i’n’t no charity case.’

‘Quite so,’ I said. ‘Would four houseguests count as proper work, do you think?’

‘Four?’ said Edna and Miss Jones in unison.

‘I’m afraid so,’ I said. ‘Lady Farley-Stroud was going to be putting up the visiting kinematograph people, but after the fire—’

‘Oh, goodness, yes. The fire. Our ma told us about that,’ interrupted Miss Jones, quite uncharacteristically. ‘In the kitchens. I’ve always been terrified I might accidentally start a fire in a kitchen.’

‘They says it was the spirit of a cook from the 1600s,’ said Edna.

‘Do they, indeed?’ I said.

‘Yes. Cruelly treated by the son of the lord, she was. Died givin’ birth to his illegitimate son. Local story says she comes back this time of year to warn the servants to watch out and to take her revenge.’

‘On whom?’ I asked, fascinated in spite of myself.

‘The family what done her wrong,’ said Edna firmly.

‘But they’re long gone. The Farley-Strouds bought the place in the eighties.’

‘No one ever said ghosts had access to the Land Registry,’ she said. ‘All she knows is that she died in her kitchen and someone needs to pay.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Well, fortunately, no one had to pay. Although Mrs Brown was a little shaken.’

‘That lazy old trout,’ said Edna. ‘I heard as how she took one look at the damage and did a bunk to her sister’s.’

The village gossip network was as efficient as ever, it seemed.

‘At Gloucester, apparently,’ I said. ‘But the lack of a fully working kitchen and the inconvenient absence of an experienced cook has left Lady Farley-Stroud feeling that she can’t entertain her guests. She’s asked if they can be billeted with us. Two gentlemen and two ladies, I understand. One of the gentlemen runs the company, the others are his actors.’

‘Actors?’ said Edna. ‘Can’t trust ’em. Our Dan’s sister used to work in the Theatre Royal down at Bristol. She could tell you some stories about actors.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be no trouble,’ I said. ‘And Lady Farley-Stroud has offered to send us Dora and Dewi to help out—’

‘That pair of useless articles?’ exclaimed Edna. ‘Tryin’ to get ’em out from under her feet, more like.’

‘She’s offered to send us Dora and Dewi to help out,’ I said again, trying desperately to regain control of the conversation. ‘We shan’t be shorthanded, but it will disrupt our usual routine.’

‘Well, I did ask for proper work,’ said Edna with a chuckle. ‘I suppose I should be careful what I wishes for.’

‘What about food?’ asked Miss Jones anxiously. ‘We’ve not got enough in – I never thought to order more. And I can’t work all day. I’m really sorry, but I’ve got our ma to think about.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘I can order extra groceries and we can work something out between us. I’m not a complete duffer in the kitchen, you know.’

‘Oh, I know, miss. I didn’t mean . . . But it’s not part of your duties. You’ve got enough to be getting on with, lookin’ after the mistress.’

‘It was just her and me for quite a while before we moved here. We were never in one place long enough for her to employ other servants so I ended up doing most things.’

‘I’d love to hear some of your stories some day,’ she said. ‘Never mind no gossip about actors. I reckon you’ve had some adventures.’

I laughed. ‘More than a few. And there’s more than a few of those I can never tell. State secrets and all that.’

She goggled at me.

‘Take no notice, my lover,’ said Edna. ‘She’s teasin’ you.’

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

‘No, Edna, I believes her,’ said Miss Jones. ‘She and Lady Hardcastle has got stories to tell.’

‘If you like, dear,’ said Edna. ‘But stories’ll have to wait. When are these actors arrivin’?’

I smiled sheepishly. ‘Bert is picking them up from the station in Chipping Bevington . . . at lunchtime,’ I said.

‘Today?’ they said in unison.

I told Edna that I’d be asking her to take charge of Dewi and Dora while the three of them readied the house for our visitors. She seemed pleased. She had been in service for a long while and had been housekeeper in a medium-sized house in her younger days. She enjoyed the easier life of part-time work for Lady Hardcastle, but I got the impression that she was looking forward to showing what she was capable of. I left her to make her plans.

Meanwhile, Miss Jones and I discussed some menu ideas for the rest of the week and reviewed the state of the larder.

It belatedly occurred to me that we had never asked how long our houseguests would be staying, but I estimated that we’d have to feed them until at least breakfast-time on Saturday. The ‘Travelling Picture Extravaganza’, as Lady Farley-Stroud’s committee had enthusiastically named it, was due to end on Thursday, with the visitors being invited as guests of honour at the village’s Bonfire Night celebrations on Friday. It seemed likely that they’d want a night’s rest before they got on their way to their next engagement, so we would need to provide food for four extra mouths for up to fifteen meals. The local shopkeepers were going to be pleased to see me.

I heard a knock at the side door. Edna was nearby and answered it. It was probably a delivery. I thought briefly about catching whichever lad it was and sending him back to his employer with our revised order but I decided that a personal appearance would be better. I paid no further attention until I heard my own name and realized that the voices I could hear were not those of Edna and a young butcher’s boy, but of Edna and another adult.

Edna was speaking. ‘. . . and Miss Armstrong has asked that you two—’

‘Stuck-up little madam,’ said Dora.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Edna.

‘Your “Miss Armstrong”. Thinks she’s better than the rest of us because she pals around with that batty old gimmer Lady Hardcastle. Comes in the front door at The Grange, she does. The front bloomin’ door! And all because her soft-headed mistress managed to solve a couple of puzzles.’