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

‘Did you see this person?’ asked the inspector.

‘No, I just heard the door closing. When I peeked round the corner again there was no one in sight so I presumed they’d gone in rather than come out.’

‘Could it have been Mr Holloway?’

‘The band was still playing when I got back to the ballroom. It was only later that Mr Holloway slipped away and Miss Montgomery came over to ask about the Scotch.’

‘Interesting. So that could have been our man,’ mused the inspector.

‘Or woman,’ said Lady Hardcastle quickly.

‘True, true. Though a man is more likely to clout someone round the back of the head with something heavy. A woman would like as not try to talk her way out of it.’

‘Have you met Armstrong?’ she asked with a smile.

‘Not given to talking her way out of things?’ he said.

‘Not usually. She’d not need a heavy object to render someone unconscious, either.’

‘No, Inspector,’ I said. ‘And he’d be able to get up and walk away with a headache when he woke up, too. It shows a considerable lack of skill to kill someone by accident when there are so many effective ways of simply incapacitating him.’

He looked faintly disquieted but carried on. ‘And what happened when you returned to the ballroom?’

I told the tale of the rest of my evening, but there was little else of any substance to offer him.

‘Did no one go into the library while you were tidying up?’ he asked when I had finished.

‘No, we were told not to bother with it because the band members were still using it. That’s why Dora was in there first thing. It was to be her job to get the room back in order before the band rose and came in to pack up their things.’

‘They didn’t pack up at the end of the party?’

‘No, they finished their performance and left their instruments on the little stage. I didn’t see what happened to them after that.’

‘They cadged some booze from Miss Clarissa and went off to the rooms that had been set aside for them in the attic,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

‘Without looking for their friend,’ said the inspector. ‘They’re a strange lot.’

‘Oh, I think they wanted to. The one they called Skins was very keen to search for him, but Richman very firmly told him no and he seemed to drop it.’

‘Skins . . . Skins . . .’ said the inspector, leafing through his notebook again. ‘Ah yes, Ivor “Skins” Maloney. The drummer. “Skins”?’

‘Drum skins, one imagines,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘It’s calfskin, I believe, scraped very thin and stretched very tight.’

‘Is it? Is it indeed? Well, I count it a poor day if I don’t learn at least one new thing. Today is looking up already. Richman said no, eh? Very interesting.’ He sat for a few moments reviewing his notes. ‘Well, my lady, Miss Armstrong, thank you for your help. I shall detain you no longer. I shall send word by the young constable if I should need anything further.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Oh, before we go, is there any more news on the Frank Pickering murder case?’

‘We have a man in custody,’ he said.

‘The right man?’ she asked.

‘Our investigations continue. Justice will be done, rest assured.’

She smiled enigmatically and we left the inspector to his notebook.

Outside in the hall, we were waylaid almost at once by Lady Farley-Stroud. She seemed to be in a state of some distress.

‘Ah, Emily, dear, there you are,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad I caught you.’

‘Whatever’s the matter, Gertie? You look all out of gathers.’

‘Something terrible’s happened, dear,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud.

‘I know. Poor Mr Holloway. We were just speaking to the inspector.’

‘Oh, that. Yes. But no, this is something else. I don’t know where to turn.’

‘You can always turn to me, Gertie, dear. What can I do for you?’

‘Come with me, dear,’ she said. ‘I need to explain things somewhere a little more private.’ She began to lead the way towards a room off the hall, which I knew to be Sir Hector’s study. Lady Hardcastle followed her for a few steps before turning back to me.

‘Come along, Armstrong, don’t dawdle,’ she said.

I frowned questioningly at her, glancing towards Lady Farley-Stroud to try to direct her attention to the look of disapproval on the older lady’s face. She caught the look.

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Gertie, dear, I know it’s not how you do things, but it’s very much how I do things. You must have gleaned from my stories at dinner that Armstrong is my right hand. If you need my help, you’ll get her help whether you wish it or not. It will save an awful lot of bother if she’s involved from the beginning. She’ll certainly be involved before the end.’

Lady Farley-Stroud looked very much as though she might be inclined to argue, but her desire for Lady Hardcastle’s aid won the internal struggle and with a grudging, ‘Oh, very well, then’, she bade me follow them both into the study.

I closed the door behind me. Lady Farley-Stroud offered Lady Hardcastle a seat in one of the armchairs by the window but very pointedly ignored me so I took up a position in the corner of the room beside a large bookcase. Lady Farley-Stroud paced agitatedly for a few moments while she collected her thoughts.

‘You recall that Hector and I were in India in the sixties?’ she began. ‘That was where we met your dear mother and father. We had such wonderful times there, Hector and I. It’s quite the most beautiful country. Of course, you’ve spent time there yourself, so you know. I really didn’t want to come home, but Hector was posted back to Blighty so like a dutiful wife I packed up all our traps and followed him. And we brought back many lovely things as mementoes, d’you see? Knick-knacks and whatnots to remind us of our time there.’

Lady Hardcastle nodded.

‘One of them has been stolen.’

‘My dear, how awful,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Where was it?’

‘We had it in our bedroom, on the mantel. It was on a cushion under a pretty little bell jar. Our reminder of happy days and a secure future.’

‘You poor thing. It’s lucky the police were already here. What did Inspector Sunderland say?’

‘We can’t tell the police,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud in some panic. ‘We can never tell the police.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘It’s a rather delicate matter,’ began our hostess. ‘In sixty-five, Hector performed some small service for the local raja – a thoroughly charming man – who rewarded Hector with a jewel.’

‘And it’s this jewel that’s been stolen? What is it?’

‘It’s an emerald,’ she said. ‘About the size of a hen’s egg,’ she added, almost casually.

‘A hen’s egg?’ exclaimed Lady Hardcastle and I together.

‘Just so,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud.

‘It must have been quite some service that Hector performed,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘A stone like that would be worth thousands.’

‘Many, many thousands,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘It has quite an interesting story, too, but that’s for another day. A few years ago we secured a loan using the gem as security. It took some negotiating, but we managed to persuade our creditors that we should be able to keep the jewel here – it means so much to us both, y’see.’

I could imagine even the hardest-hearted banker eventually bowing to the will of Lady Farley-Stroud.

‘They weren’t at all happy,’ she continued. ‘They would much rather have held it to ransom in their own vaults, but eventually they agreed on the strict condition that the safety of the jewel was to be entirely our responsibility. If it were to be stolen or damaged, the loan would be repayable immediately. No security, no loan.’