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

We were up until the small hours. I couldn’t recall a time since we’d returned from India when we’d laughed quite as much. Theft and murder notwithstanding, life in the country could sometimes be really rather splendid.

16

The next morning, we managed to secure a four-wheeler to take the boys and their instruments to the station at Chipping Bevington. They left with our good wishes ringing in their ears and a few rounds of sandwiches in their pockets.

‘Well, Flo,’ said Lady Hardcastle once they had gone. ‘What say we toddle up to The Grange this morning?’

‘What for, my lady?’

‘The inspector said he’d be there. I wondered if he might have had news of Teddy Seddon’s alibi in the Pickering case.’

‘Or lack thereof,’ I said.

‘Just so. We’ve come so far – we should see it through if we can.’

‘Very well, my lady. I shall fetch your hat.’

When we arrived at The Grange there was no sign of Inspector Sunderland. Lady Farley-Stroud was in buoyant mood, though, and invited Lady Hardcastle to join her for coffee on the terrace.

Lady Hardcastle was trying to explain some of the techniques of making moving pictures when Jenkins rounded the corner of the house in the company of one of our friendly local policemen.

‘Sergeant Dobson to see you, my lady,’ said Jenkins with a bow.

‘Good morning m’ladies,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’m sorry to intrude but I has a message for Inspector Sunderland.’ He brandished a piece of paper torn from a notebook.

‘He’s not here,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘Not arrived yet. Have you tried the station at Bristol?’

‘Oh,’ said the sergeant. ‘The message come from there. They said to give it to him when he got here.’

‘If he’s definitely on his way, I’m sure we can pass it on.’

‘If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.’

‘None at all,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

He knuckled the brim of his helmet and passed the note to her. Jenkins escorted him back round the outside of the house.

‘What does it say, dear?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.

Lady Farley-Stroud unfolded the paper and looked at it for a moment. ‘Just some police business by the look of things,’ she said. ‘Here.’ She passed the note across the table.

‘Oh, I say,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Do you think we might borrow Bert for one last mission?’

Lady Farley-Stroud was suddenly much more interested. ‘Certainly, m’dear. It’s important, is it?’

‘I should jolly well say so. Come on, Armstrong, I think we’ve got our killer.’

In the car, Lady Hardcastle showed me the note. It was scrawled in Sergeant Dobson’s inelegant hand. ‘Sgt Hawthorne spk to Dan (Seddon’s chffr). Teddy at home on Tue 9th. Drove Ida Seddon to Littleton Cotterell.’

‘Ida Seddon?’ I said. ‘It was Ida?’

‘It all fits, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘She’s a grubby little woman on the make. She’d do anything to protect her wealth. She must have decided to get rid of Pickering.’

‘Why are we not waiting for the inspector?’ I asked.

‘We’re just helping out a little,’ she said. ‘All the evidence is circumstantial. If I can manipulate her into confessing in front of witnesses, we’ll have her.’

‘Very well, my lady,’ I said. ‘You have a plan?’

She did indeed.

When we were about a hundred yards from the house, she had Bert stop the car to let us out.

‘We’ll wait here for fifteen minutes,’ she told him, ‘and then go in. You hurry back to the village. Fetch Sergeant Dobson and Constable Hancock. Bring them back to the house as fast as you can.’

We stood hidden behind a large tree beside the road, with Lady Hardcastle consulting her wristwatch every few moments. At last she nodded, and we walked to the gates of the Seddon house. We walked across the drive, then I made my way round the side of the house to the servants’ entrance, leaving Lady Hardcastle to ring the front doorbell. I hurried towards the kitchen.

A very surprised Mrs Birch let me in.

‘I’m so sorry to intrude, Mrs Birch. The game, as they say in the stories, is afoot. Might I impose upon the hospitality of your delightful scullery for a few moments until the time comes for me to play my part?’

‘Of course, dear,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘But what the deuce is going on?’

‘All will be explained in the fullness of time, Mrs Birch, I promise.’

I stood by the door that led into the main house, listening to what was going on in the entrance hall. As Langdon had already said, it was difficult to hear much from other parts of the house, but I was certain I’d heard Langdon announcing Lady Hardcastle. After a brief exchange in the hall, I heard their footsteps as they went into one of the rooms. I gave it a few moments more to make sure the way was clear and then slipped out.

‘Thank you, Mrs Birch,’ I whispered over my shoulder. ‘I’ll explain everything as soon as I can.’

I tiptoed along the passageway, listening carefully for sounds of conversation. As promised, Lady Hardcastle had made sure her confrontation was in the dining room and I stood quietly outside the partly open door, listening. Mrs Seddon’s voice bristled with indignation.

‘. . . mean by bursting in here unannounced?’

‘I didn’t think it could wait,’ said Lady Hardcastle coldly.

‘Didn’t think what could wait? What on earth are you doing here?’ demanded Mr Seddon.

‘Oh, come, Mr and Mrs Seddon, let’s stop playing games. I know one of you was stealing from the firm. Why was that? To try to keep up with Ida’s vulgar taste in clothes? I know Frank Pickering knew, too. I know he confronted you. I know you lured him to a meeting late last Tuesday night. I know you got Daniel to drive you to Littleton Cotterell, Mrs Seddon. You strangled Pickering with your scarf. You carried his body to Combe Woods on a handcart you found near the cricket pavilion. I know . . .’

I missed what else she knew because I was somewhat distracted by the distinctive click of a revolver being cocked and the all-too-familiar feel of its barrel being thrust into my ribs. Even through the sensation-deadening embrace of my corset, I’d never forget that feeling.

‘I think you’d better join your mistress,’ hissed Teddy Seddon, ‘don’t you?’ He jabbed the revolver into my ribs again, propelling me through the door and into the dining room.

‘Look what I found in the hall, Mummy,’ he said. ‘Lady Muck’s lackey doing a bit of snooping.’

He waved the gun to indicate that I should join Lady Hardcastle by the dining table.

‘Oh, Teddy . . .’ said Mr Seddon despairingly.

‘Good boy, Teddy,’ said Mrs Seddon. ‘Here, let me have that.’ She took the revolver from her son’s hand.

‘Ida, really!’ said Mr Seddon.

‘Just another bit of tidying up to do,’ she said. ‘Then we can get back to business.’

‘Business?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Murder is part of the shipping business now?’

‘Shipping?’ said Mrs Seddon. ‘You think his tuppeny-ha’penny firm pays for all this?’ She waved her free arm to indicate her garish surroundings.

‘Does it not?’ asked Lady Hardcastle. ‘But . . . oh, I see.’

‘See what?’

‘You’re the smuggler that Inspector Sunderland is investigating. He said he was familiar with your firm. So, you underwrite your smuggling ventures by siphoning off funds from the shipping agency? It seems a clumsy way to go about things. One would have thought it would be cleverer to have the money passing the opposite way. Hide the proceeds of your crimes in legitimate business transactions.’

‘You’re quite the clever one, ain’t you?’ said Mrs Seddon, all traces of the upper-class veneer disappearing from her voice. ‘Yes, we was doing exactly that. But it’s a risky venture. Ships sink. Crews double-cross you. Outsiders start operating on your turf, makin’ folk suspicious. We had some cash flow problems so I used some company money.’