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

‘Old family friends.’

‘Indeed, my lady.’

‘Very well, I shall let her know. I say, if you do a good job I might be able to make a few bob hiring you out.’

‘Like an agency skivvy, my lady.’

‘Exactly like that. You wouldn’t mind, would you, dear?’

I raised an eyebrow.

She laughed. ‘But I expect as much below-stairs gossip as you can glean.’

And so it was agreed. Lady Hardcastle replied at once and the arrangements were made. My own uniform was deemed suitable and I was to report to the kitchens by four o’clock on the day of the party.

7

On Saturday our morning walk took us not towards the fields and woods as usual, but into the village where we called upon Mrs Pantry at the grocer’s.

‘Ah, Mrs Pantry,’ said Lady Hardcastle, as we entered. ‘How do you do?’

‘How do you do, my lady?’ said the shopkeeper. She glowered at the thought of a well-to-do lady entering her shop.

‘I wonder, do you have any wire?’

‘Wire, my lady?’

‘Yes. It needs to be quite thin and quite flexible, but it needs to be able to hold its shape.’

‘Thin,’ said the shopkeeper suspiciously. ‘Flexible.’

‘Yes, that’s right. And able to hold its shape.’

Mrs Pantry’s curiosity warred with her class animosity, with the battle played out clearly across her rumpled features. She was desperate to know more about this odd request, but should she deign to speak to a ‘lady’? The curiosity won.

‘What d’you want that for?’ she said, almost accusingly.

Unfazed, Lady Hardcastle said, ‘It’s for a moving-picture project I’m working on. I have it in mind to make some puppets and I should like to form their skeletons from wire. Have you seen any of Monsieur Méliès’s work?’

‘Moving pictures? Whatever next.’

‘Whatever next indeed,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Do you have any wire?’

‘I got some milliner’s wire. I got it in for Mrs Lane.’

‘That sounds ideal.’

‘She was makin’ an ’at for her daughter’s wedding, see.’

‘Was she, by Jove. Might I buy some?’

‘It’s for makin’ hats, mind.’

‘Quite so. Ten yards?’

‘How much? I don’t know if I’ve got that much left.’

‘Then I shall take whatever you have.’

‘All right,’ said Mrs Pantry, grudgingly. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever been asked for such a thing.’

Clutching a small parcel containing the milliner’s wire, we continued our walk around the green and past the church. Reverend Bland wished us a good day as we passed the church door on our way towards the recently built village hall. Strange musical sounds were emanating from within. The music sounded altogether more modern than one might expect in a rather staid little settlement in the countryside. Curiosity led us to investigate.

The hall had an enclosed porch and we were able to enter the building without having to venture into the hall itself. We peered through the crack in the double doors and listened to the goings-on.

The music – an energetic ragtime song – came to an end.

‘Oh, I say,’ said a young woman’s voice. ‘That was simply divine. Mummy will die. I love it.’

A man’s voice rose above the ensuing laughter. ‘Ah,’ said the voice. ‘That’ll be why we couldn’t do our run-through at the house.’

‘’Ere,’ said another male voice. ‘She will still pay us, though, won’t she?’

There was more laughter. Another woman’s voice said, ‘Oh do shut up, Skins.’

‘It’s fine, it’s fine,’ said the younger woman. ‘She’s agreed to have you. It’s just that I’m not certain she knows exactly what she’s agreed to.’

There was a sound of scraping chairs and the clatter of instrument cases being opened. Footsteps approached the door so we made a hasty exit.

We were nonchalantly walking around the outside of the hall by the time a tall, handsome man emerged from the door. He leaned against the wall. A shorter, wiry man joined him.

‘Stuffy in there, ain’t it?’ he said

‘You’re not kidding, Ed,’ said the taller man. ‘I do hope this house of hers is better ventilated.’

‘Bound to be. They’re all cold and draughty them old places, ain’t they? We’ll be tidy. It’ll be an easy job, I reckon.’ He caught sight of us as we crossed the road and gave me a wink.

‘I should say this evening’s entertainment has arrived,’ said Lady Hardcastle, once we were out of earshot.

‘It would certainly appear that way, my lady. I hope your dancing shoes can cope.’

‘Never mind the shoes. It’s these poor old pins I worry about.’

‘You have the legs of a woman half your age,’ I said.

‘Yes, but she wants them back so I shall have to make do with these.’

‘I haven’t danced for years,’ I said. ‘Not since that ball in Vienna.’

‘My word, I’d forgotten that one. You were the Marchioness of Somewhere-or-Other, weren’t you?’

‘Was it that one? Or was I la Comptesse de Thingummy?’

‘You could well have been. It was so hot that summer, wasn’t it?’

‘It was,’ I said. ‘Was that the one where we had to sweet talk General von Whatsit?’

‘I believe so, yes. Wasn’t he on the verge of proposing marriage? To both of us.’

‘Naturally,’ I said. ‘Who could resist? But I do know it was the last time I danced. I was in a posh frock, too.’

‘With Lady Sarah’s pearls, as I recall. Tonight, though, you shall be in your uniform, handing out canapés and wine. Do you miss it?’

‘The danger and fleeing for our lives in the dead of night? It had its attractions, I suppose.’

‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘We shall have to find our fun in other ways.’

Saturday afternoon arrived. I was dressed in my very best uniform, cleaned, pressed and generally dandified as I helped Lady Hardcastle with her own preparations for the evening. She wasn’t the sort of lady who was incapable of getting herself ready without help (hair notwithstanding), but it seemed a shame not to do a few maidly things for her before I left.

She had negotiated with Lady Farley-Stroud for her chauffeur, Bert, to come and pick me up and I was just putting the finishing touches to her hair when the doorbell rang.

‘That’ll be your carriage,’ she said. ‘Run along. Be good, have fun and, most importantly, gather gossip.’

‘I shall do my utmost,’ I said, and went to the front door.

Bert had already got back in the car and was waiting with the engine running.

‘Hello, Bert,’ I said as I got in beside him. ‘I hope this isn’t too much trouble.’

‘None at all, Miss Armstrong,’ he said. ‘Fact is, I’m glad to be out of the place for ten minutes. It’s bedlam up there, it is. Bedlam. Everyone’s running about the place, setting up this, tidying that, moving t’other thing. Cook’s shouting at the kitchen maid. The butler is shouting at cook, the footman and the parlour maid. The mistress is shouting at Sir Hector. Sir Hector is shouting at the dogs. Miss Clarissa is shouting at Mr Seddon. And I was thinking I’d be next in the firing line if I hadn’t had to pop over here to fetch you.’

‘Then I’m both grateful for the lift and delighted to have been of some help,’ I said as we set off.

‘I don’t suppose you needs to go over to Chipping Bevington to fetch something for your mistress? Bristol . . .? Gloucester . . .? London . . .?’

I laughed. ‘We should get up to The Grange, Bert. Maybe an extra pair of willing hands will lessen everyone’s need to shout quite so much. And perhaps they’ll all be better behaved with a stranger in their midst.’

‘Perhaps, miss, perhaps. But don’t let them bully you into doing more than your fair share. There’s one or two of my fellow staff members who does as little as they think they can get away with and still complains about how hard done by they are.’