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

ALSO BY T E KINSEY

The Lady Hardcastle Mysteries

A Quiet Life in the Country

In the Market for Murder

Death Around the Bend

Christmas at The Grange (Kindle Single)

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. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2018 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 Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781542046022

ISBN-10: 1542046025

Cover design by Lisa Horton

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter One

‘Just hold it steady and try to keep your hand out of the shot,’ said Lady Hardcastle with only the tiniest hint of exasperation.

I had been summoned to the studio in the orangery at eight o’clock that morning. It was half-past eleven now and we were both becoming only the tiniest bit impatient with each other.

‘Perhaps we should take a break, my lady,’ I said. ‘I’ll get Miss Jones to make us a nice pot of coffee. I think she had some biscuits on the go, too.’

‘Just . . . one . . . more . . . shot . . .’ she said, reaching across to the camera to flick the shutter release. ‘There. All done, I think. I just need to make up some nice title cards and then Town Mouse and Country Mouse will be ready for the viewing public. Or the villagers, at any rate. I’m not sure the wider public could give a fig one way or the other. But Gertie assures me that the village is abuzz – she really did say “abuzz”, you know – the village is abuzz with excited talk about “Lady Hardcastle’s moving picture”.’

‘Daisy speaks of little else,’ I said. ‘I was in the Dog and Duck at lunchtime yesterday while you were fussing about in here and she was holding court behind the bar. “That Lady Hardcastle,” she said, “she’s some sort of genius or sommat making them moving pictures and that.” A genius, my lady. And she’s actually met you. Your artistic endeavours may yet be the salvation of your shaky reputation.’

‘They may yet,’ she said distractedly as she continued to fiddle with the camera. ‘Did you say something about coffee?’

‘And biscuits. I’ll pop up to the kitchen and see what I can find.’

‘Bless you. I’ll just tidy up here and I’ll meet you in the morning room.’

I left the orangery and walked the short distance to the back door. The house had been built a few years earlier in the modern style – all red brick and white-painted window frames. One concession to earlier fashion had been the inclusion of the orangery. Lady Hardcastle rented the house from her old friend Jasper Laxley. He had designed it with the intention of moving into it when he and his family returned from India. Events had conspired to keep them on the beautiful subcontinent for longer than expected and he was delighted to be able to rent the newly built home to a trusted pal. It seems Mr Laxley had anticipated bringing exotic plant specimens back from India and had created the orangery to accommodate them. When we moved in, Lady Hardcastle had immediately reappointed it for use as a photographic studio. It was not at all what Mr Laxley had in mind, of course, but the light really was rather splendid.

I was only out of doors for a few moments but autumn was making its presence felt and I was glad to get in out of the chill.

I found Miss Jones, the young cook, hard at work in the kitchen. She seemed to be preparing a rack of lamb for our Sunday lunch.

Lady Hardcastle had employed her when we first moved to Littleton Cotterell. She was terribly young to be a cook. So young, in fact, that none of us could bring ourselves to call her Mrs Jones as tradition dictated. It seemed wrong, somehow. Despite her youth and inexperience, her cooking skills were a revelation. I’ve always thought myself a bit of a dab hand in the kitchen, but Blodwen Jones made me look like the worst sort of bumbling bungler by comparison.

‘Oh, hello, Miss Armstrong,’ she said as I stood by the range, warming my hands. ‘Edna’s been askin’ where you was. Somethin’ about her thinkin’ we needs new table linen for the dinin’ room. And she’s run out of beeswax. And her duster has worn out. Nothin’s going right for her today. I think you’ve been lucky keepin’ out of her way, to be honest.’

I tried not to sigh. ‘I’d better go and have a word,’ I said instead. ‘Can you conjure up a pot of coffee while I’m gone, please? Lady Hardcastle will take it in the morning room.’

‘Of course,’ she said with a smile. ‘I made some shortbread this morning as well if you think she’d fancy that.’

‘You read my mind,’ I said.

I set off to find the housemaid.

‘How stands the Empire, Edna?’ I said when I finally found her in one of the bedrooms.

‘I’ve been better, Miss Armstrong,’ she said wearily.

‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Everythin’ seems to be goin’ wrong. I’ve run out of polish, this blimmin’ duster’s seen better days’ – she held up a limp collection of ostrich feathers at the end of a battered handle – ‘I can’t get the table linen to come up nice . . . I’n’t nothin’ workin’ as it should. And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve put things down and can’t find ’em again.’

‘That’ll be the house ghost. It’s the time of year for it, after all.’

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ she said. ‘I knows you and the mistress don’t go in for things like that, but I takes it very serious. I’ve seen a ghost at our grandma’s house. I a’n’t never felt a chill like it. And the barrier between their world and ours is weakest at Halloween.’

‘I was teasing,’ I said. ‘I think we’re safe. This house is less than ten years old – it’s not been here long enough to acquire any ghosts.’

‘You shouldn’t make fun of them,’ she said earnestly. ‘You never know what went on here in days gone by.’

‘I’m sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood. It’s not like you to be so downhearted over a few minor setbacks. Is there something else wrong?’

She looked up from making the bed. ‘Oh, it’s sommat and nothin’, m’dear,’ she said with a fleeting smile. ‘My Dan was hurt t’other day at work. He’ll mend, but it’s a worry, though.’

‘Oh no, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Is it serious? Should you be looking after him?’