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

‘And when you went in, she’d gone.’

‘She had, sir. Out the window.’

‘But you took her shoes?’

‘Well, no, sir, didn’t seem much point. We was up on the first floor. Where was she going to go?’

‘Out the window and down the blessed drainpipe,’ said the inspector with no small amount of exasperation.

‘Yes, sir,’ said the sergeant, sheepishly.

‘Did you look for her?’

‘I had a run round the house, sir, but she’d vanished.’

The inspector sighed again. ‘Oh, well, she’ll not get far on foot. Get word out, Sergeant, and we’ll see if we can pick her up before she manages to catch a train.’

‘Right you are, sir. Sorry, sir.’ He hurried out.

‘I despair,’ said the inspector, but unfortunately Lady Hardcastle and I were laughing, so we couldn’t commiserate. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘We’re laughing now, are we?’

‘Oh, come on, Inspector,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘You’ve got to admit it’s rather funny. And poor old Dobson. He wants so much to get things right. He offered to take her to the cells and we knew she was a slippery customer.’

‘So it’s my fault?’

‘Well, if the shoe fits . . .’

‘Don’t mention the shoes,’ he said. ‘If he’d taken her blasted shoes, she’d still be sitting up there in her wonky stays.’

We laughed again.

We were still gently chiding poor Inspector Sunderland when Lady Farley-Stroud popped her head round the door.

‘Ah, splendid,’ she said. ‘You’re still here. Clarissa is going back to London this afternoon so I thought we might have a little farewell drink in the drawing room.’

‘Thank you, Gertie,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That would be lovely.’

‘Miss Armstrong and Inspector Sunderland, too,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud unexpectedly.

He and I exchanged puzzled looks.

‘You were all involved in recovering the Emerald Eye and I think you all deserve a drink.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ said the inspector. ‘I should like that very much.’

‘Splendid, splendid,’ she said. ‘Well, come along.’

We went along.

Sir Hector was in the drawing room, looking out of the window. Miss Clarissa was there too, and to my surprise I saw that she was in the company of ‘Skins’ Maloney and Barty Dunn, the only two members of the band not to be implicated in the jewel theft.

‘Clarissa tells me you’re fond of brandy,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud.

‘As a matter of fact I am,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

‘I couldn’t do without my brandy, my dear,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud conspiratorially. ‘I keep some hidden away in here where Hector can’t find it.’

She opened her large sewing box and rummaged around, eventually producing a bottle of very fine cognac, which she proceeded to pour into four glasses.

‘Your very good health,’ she said. ‘And thank you once more for retrieving the Eye. I was quite beside myself with worry, but you clever things have made everything all right.’

‘Happy to be of help, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

‘And what of the murder, Inspector?’ said Lady Farley-Stroud.

‘Well, my lady, we have a man in custody. The circumstantial evidence – especially some fine work undertaken by Lady Hardcastle here – certainly speaks against him, but we have no proof yet, so my mind remains at least partly open.’

‘Oh, I say, Emily. Well done, you,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud.

‘I can’t take all the credit,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That must go to the inspector for all the painstaking interviews he conducted.’

‘You’re very kind, my lady, but your song list idea was rather clever.’

‘Oh, pish and fiddlesticks.’

Miss Clarissa and the two musicians erupted into raucous laughter.

‘None of it appears to have dampened Clarissa’s spirits overmuch,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘I’m glad she’s not distraught, but I confess I was expecting a little more of a reaction.’

‘Very robust, the young,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

‘So it would appear.’

There was a nervous knock at the door and Sergeant Dobson’s head appeared around it. He scanned the room, anxiously, until his eyes alighted on Inspector Sunderland.

‘You’ll have to excuse me, ladies,’ said the inspector. ‘I think the sergeant wants me. Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Farley-Stroud. I wonder if I might impose upon you for just one more day. I should like to take another look about the place tomorrow morning, if I may. Then I shall wrap up a few local matters and be out of your hair.’

‘Of course, Inspector,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘You know the way.’

‘Thank you, my lady. And thank you both for your help, Lady Hardcastle, Miss Armstrong.’

He shook us warmly by the hand and went out to the corridor where I heard him say, ‘. . . at Chipping Bevington station? Thank you, Sergeant. Tell them to cuff her this time and get her down to Bristol.’

Lady Farley-Stroud went to the window to talk to her husband. Meanwhile Skins, the drummer, came over to us.

‘Wotcha, Lady H.,’ he said.

‘Hello, Mr Maloney,’ she replied. ‘Are you well?’

‘Not bad, mustn’t grumble. We got the word about old Summers and his unrequited love. What a story. A golden idol, its shining green eye . . . I met a bloke once up North. Milton, his name was, Milton Hayes. He writes poems and that. He’d love this one. I might write to him and tell him the story. Might have to embellish it a bit – make it a bit more melodramatic – but it’s got promise.’

‘Oh, I say,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What fun.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Do you reckon he killed Wally?’

‘The inspector thinks it likely,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But his investigations continue.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘He seemed like a rum un.’

‘He did indeed. What will you do now? With poor Mr Holloway gone, and Richman and Montgomery facing charges for theft, smuggling and who knows what else, there’s only you and Mr Dunn left.’

‘Don’t worry about us, Lady H.,’ he said cheerfully. ‘There’s always work for the likes of us. Best rhythm section in London, us. We’ll be all right.’

‘That’s reassuring,’ she said. ‘And your immediate plans?’

‘Well, I don’t suppose the Farley-Strouds will want us hanging about now half the band’s in chokey. Not sure, really. We could get a train back to London tonight, I suppose, but it’s a bit of a schlepp with just the two of us and all our clobber.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That will never do. I say, I have an idea. I have two spare bedrooms and you shall be my guests for the night. There’s certain to be someone in the village who will lend us a cart to get your instruments to the house.’

‘That’s very generous, Lady H. Very generous indeed. Thank you very much.’

‘It’s purely selfish, Mr M. I’ve become rather fond of your ragtime music. We could do with some proper musicians to accompany our poor efforts.’

‘You’re on, my lady,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘’Ere, Barty,’ he called. ‘Come over ’ere a mo.’

Skins had only taken a few steps when he turned back and said, ‘There is just one thing that never got resolved.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.

He turned to me. ‘Did you ever decide what I can call you?’

I smiled. ‘You, Mr Skins, may call me Flo.’

Our evening with the two musicians was an unqualified success. They arrived with all their traps just as I was putting the finishing touches to Miss Jones’s pre-prepared dinner and they joined us for what they both proclaimed was the best meal they had eaten for weeks.

We adjourned to the drawing room where we pushed the furniture to the walls so that Skins could set up his drums and we had the most enjoyably entertaining time. They proved themselves extremely versatile musicians and managed to turn their hands to almost every musical style that Lady Hardcastle threw at them. By the time we finished, following a spiritedly syncopated version of Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 which left us all laughing with the joy and silliness of it all, Skins assured us that if ever times were hard, we should get in touch with them. He knew a few clubs, he said, that would ‘love a bit of that’.