T Kinsey - A Quiet Life in the Country (A Lady Hardcastle Mystery Book 1)

‘With who?’

‘Arthur Tressle,’ she said, with a hint of impatience, as though I should have known. ‘Captain of the cricket team.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Was he given to rowing with people?’

‘Frank? No, lovely boy. Did Sam say if they know who did it?’

‘Bill Lovell has been arrested,’ I said.

‘He’s never! Blimey.’

‘Do you know him at all?’

‘I knows his mother,’ she said.

Miss Jones returned with the coats.

‘Well, we’d best be off,’ said Edna. ‘Our Dan will want to know the news, I’m sure. Good day, Miss Armstrong, and thank you for letting us get away early.’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Jones. ‘Thank you.’

‘Are you sure about this, my lady?’ I said, as I set the tray down on the small table in the sitting room. Lady Hardcastle had decamped there and had settled into one of the chairs by the unlit fire. I sat in the other.

‘Sure about tea?’ she said.

‘Sure about poking our noses into the matter in our hands.’

She laughed. ‘When you put it like that . . . But, yes, I think it will be fun. You can be my eyes and ears among the lower classes, just like in the old days. You can start by making some discreet enquiries in the village. It will be fun to be working together again. Won’t it? Say it will, Flo.’

She usually tried to remember to call me ‘Armstrong’ in company, but alone in the house she tended to call me by my first name. Somehow, despite my disdain for ‘the rules’, I could never quite bring myself to call her anything but ‘my lady’. I think I only ever called her Emily once, in China, when we were sure we were about to die.

‘I’ve said it before, my lady, more than once, but I distinctly remember being promised a quiet life in the country. Yet here I am about to equip myself with thumbscrews and cosh and slink into the murky village underworld on your behalf.’

‘“Murky village underworld” indeed! You do have an overdeveloped sense of the melodramatic, dear. And when have you ever needed a cosh to protect yourself?’

‘It’s just for show, my lady, just for show. But I really thought we’d left all the skulduggery and intrigue behind us. And, be honest, what do we really know of detective work? It’s not as though we have any experience. We were always involved in more . . . direct action.’

‘It’s true, it’s true, but I really think we need to try to do something to help. Neither of us would be happy to see a lad hanged for something he didn’t do.’

‘Surely it would never come to that,’ I said. ‘I still think the truth will come out during the trial, at least. And if we mess things up, we might make it worse for him.’

‘Oh, we shall be most circumspect, pet, don’t worry. Perhaps Inspector Thingummy would have come to the truth in the end. But, just in case, let’s have a dig around and see what we can come up with. What can it hurt? And poor Constable Hancock is so sweet. Think how much it would help him in his career if we were able to point him in the right direction.’

‘I think Edna might be quite excited, too.’

‘Oh?’

‘She was asking me about it before she left. Apparently she was in the Dog and Duck on Tuesday night and saw Frank Pickering’s arguments.’

‘Arguments? Constable Hancock mentioned only one.’

‘Evidently he argued with another chap later on. The captain of the cricket team, she said.’

‘Well, there we are, then. What more do you need to persuade you to stick our beaks in? Inspector Whiffwhaff knows about only one argument and he’s arrested the chap. What if it were the other one? We’ll be doing everyone a service.’

‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘Very well. Let’s imagine, then, that we really are detectives and that we have even the first idea how to conduct a murder investigation. Where shall we start?’

‘We need to be methodical. We must start at the beginning; we must start with our victim. We need to find out all that we can about him—’

She was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

‘Excuse me, my lady,’ I said, and went to answer it.

It was the boy from the local post office with a telegram.

‘Telegram for her ladyship,’ he mumbled quickly, holding it out for me to take.

‘My lady doesn’t sail,’ I said.

He looked blankly at me.

‘She doesn’t have a “ship”.’ I tried to explain. ‘She’s a knight’s widow so she’s “Lady Hardcastle” or “my lady”.’

‘Eh?’ he said, bewildered.

‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Thank you for bringing it.’ I made to close the door.

He stopped me. ‘I’m to wait for a reply,’ he said.

‘Very well. Wait here and I’ll see if there is one,’ I said and took the telegram through to Lady Hardcastle who was sitting at the dining table, sketching.

‘What is it, Flo?’ she asked. ‘News?’

‘Telegram for you, my lady,’ I said, handing it over.

She opened it and read it. ‘Aha,’ she said, ‘another invitation to dine.’

‘You’re quite the popular one these days.’

‘And justifiably so. This one might not be up to much, but I do rather think that it could be useful to our investigation.’

‘It could?’

‘It could. It’s an invitation to dine with James and Ida Seddon.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Our Mr Pickering’s employer. Which Seddon is he, do you think?’ I asked.

‘The second one, I should imagine.’

‘How can one tell, I wonder?’

‘I believe they have it stamped on the bottom. But anyway,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow I am to pay a call on the Seddons where I might learn more about our victim, and you shall accompany me.’

‘I shall?’

‘Of course you shall. I need to win them over and impress them if I’m going to get anything useful from them, and nothing impresses the commercial classes more than a title and turning up to lunch with a personal servant in attendance. It’ll give you a chance to snoop around and talk to their own staff, too.’ She scrawled a reply on the form and gave it to me with some change for the boy.

He was kicking stones on the path and looked up guiltily when I opened the door. I handed him the reply and the money.

‘The ha’penny’s for you,’ I said. ‘Don’t spend it all at once.’

He grinned and scampered off towards the village. ‘Tell her ladyship I says thanks,’ he called over his shoulder as he disappeared from view.

5

On Tuesday morning I had everything nicely under control. The same could not be said of Lady Hardcastle.

I set Edna to work on the laundry and her morning was spent soaking, washing, wringing, mangling and hanging. It was perfect drying weather – sunny and with a good breeze – and Edna herself was sunny and breezy, too. I wondered if she and Miss Jones had talked things over on their way home the day before. Perhaps they had come to some agreement about accepting our ways because the cook was in fine spirits, as well, and they both chatted amiably with me as we went about our duties.

By eleven o’clock everything was well in hand. There was tea in the pot and I still had an hour to make myself presentable for Lady Hardcastle’s lunch at the Seddons’.

Until, that is, Lady Hardcastle appeared at the kitchen door, evidently in some sort of panic. ‘There is a trichological crisis of disastrous proportions,’ she said.

‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’

‘My hair, Flo, my hair. Look at it.’

I looked at the wispy mess of long dark hair, inexpertly piled on top of her head. ‘It does look a little . . . untidy,’ I suggested.

‘It looks as if squirrels are nesting in it. Squirrels, Flo!’

‘If you’ll forgive me for pointing it out, my lady, it’s your own fault for being so impatient. I did say I’d help as soon as the laundry was done.’