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

‘And when Mr Pickering threatened to report the theft to the police . . .?’

‘Yes, your lady-hoity-toity-ship, I got rid of him. Choked the interfering life out of him with a very expensive silk scarf from Paris and then strung him up in an oak tree. All carefully planned it was. Nothing could go wrong. Not until you started poking your beak in.’

‘Excellent work,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Apart from tying him too high so his feet couldn’t reach the log. Oh, and not leaving an impression in the ground from the log. Other than that, an exemplary effort.’

‘Details. The police would never have noticed anything like that. You’re an interfering snooper too, i’n’t you? And I reckon you know now what happens to them.’

‘I believe so, yes. But satisfy my curiosity. Even when I realized who had killed poor Mr Pickering, I couldn’t for the life of me fathom how you’d managed to get the body into the tree. Even from the handcart it was quite a feat.’

Mrs Seddon looked up at the memorabilia on the wall. Lady Hardcastle followed her gaze. ‘Of course,’ she said at last. ‘The block and tackle. That display isn’t asymmetrical by design, it’s because there’s a piece missing. We should have noticed that, Armstrong.’

‘I noticed, my lady,’ I said, shifting my weight slightly and balancing on the balls of my feet. ‘I thought that’s why you wanted your meeting to be in here.’

‘Did you, indeed? Well done. Well done. And so it was. And what happened to the block, Mrs Seddon? And the scarf? Why couldn’t we find those?’

‘In the coal hole till things had quietened down. But I’ll have two bodies to dispose of after tonight, so I’ll probably get rid of them then.’

‘You’re a very clever and meticulous woman, Mrs Seddon. I congratulate you on the thoroughness of your planning. Isn’t she good, Armstrong?’

‘Very accomplished, my lady,’ I said.

‘Oh, good lord,’ said Lady Hardcastle suddenly. ‘Outsiders operating on your turf. You knew about Haddock and Richman, didn’t you? Did you kill Holloway, too?’

‘No harm in tellin’ you, I don’t suppose. Can’t call a corpse to court as a witness. Yes, I killed him, too. I recognized Fishface. You get to know people in my line of work. I reckoned they was up to something. Instrument cases is a good place to hide things. We’ve used that a couple of times ourselves. Very good. So I had a look to see if they’d pinched anything. That Holloway bloke caught me so I clumped him one.’

‘And left him for dead,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

‘They knows the rules. You don’t go round nicking stuff on someone else’s turf. Serves him ri—’

She was interrupted by the creaking of a floorboard outside the door.

The listeners at the door realized that they’d been tumbled and began to make their hasty way inside. Mrs Seddon turned towards them, levelling her revolver. She fired at Sergeant Dobson but at the instant she pulled the trigger, my right foot connected with her wrist with a satisfyingly loud crack of breaking bone that could be heard even over the report of the gun.

What happened next has haunted my nightmares from that day to this. Lady Hardcastle’s new endeavour meant that I was very familiar with moving-picture projectors. She would often amuse her guests with the flickering images, and one of her favourite tricks was to crank the handle at the wrong speed. Winding it too fast made the people on the screen jitter about comically, while winding it too slowly made them move about with a ponderous elegance, as though struggling through treacle.

My kick had been a fraction late, or perhaps Ida Seddon’s aim was a little wild. Instead of hitting Sergeant Dobson as he barged into the room, or loosing her shot harmlessly into the woodwork, she had hit something else. Lying on the floor, blood pulsing from a wound in her stomach, was my Emily.

A week later, on the first day of July, there was a ring at the door. Having reassured the new servants that they would continue to be paid, I had invited them to take some time off and so it was left to me to make my way downstairs to answer the door. There on the step was the tall, handsome figure of Lady Hardcastle’s brother Harry.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Featherstonhaugh,’ I said, with a curtsey. I made my usual point of mispronouncing it as ‘Featherston-huff’, which in turn drew his usual raised eyebrow and slightly sad smile.

‘It’s “Fanshaw”, you silly girl, as you very well know,’ he said, indulgently playing along. ‘And how are you, Miss Strong-Arm? Beaten up any sailors lately?’

‘No sailors, sir, no. A couple of civil servants who got too lippy, but no sailors.’

He laughed and I invited him in.

‘How’s the patient?’ he asked as I took his hat.

‘Oh, you know,’ I said. ‘Gabbling away as usual. Complaining about her lunch, joking with the staff. She even . . .’ My voice cracked a little and Harry put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

‘I know, Flo, I know.’

‘The stupid old biddy,’ I said with a sniff. ‘Just careless and rude, she is. Standing in the way of a bullet and then not even having the decency to wake up and tell us she’s all right.’

‘She will,’ said Harry. ‘The doctors say it can sometimes take a few days for the body to recover from a shock like that.’

‘She’d better,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

He smiled. ‘I’m sure I’ve never met a servant quite like you.’

‘I’m one of a kind.’

‘That you are. I’ve never really had a chance to thank you for taking care of my little sister, you know.’

‘It’s just my job, sir.’

‘Harry,’ he said. ‘After all that you’ve done for her, I think you really can call me Harry.’

‘I’ll try, sir, but it doesn’t come naturally.’

‘No, no, I’ve noticed that. But I mean it. If it weren’t for you, I think Emily would have gone batty years ago.’

‘Or strangled herself with her corsets,’ I said, struggling to make light again.

He chuckled. ‘Or that, certainly. Not the most practical girl, my sister. But over the years you’ve kept body and soul together and I really don’t know what she’d do without you.’

‘She might never have been shot if I’d not been there.’

‘Nonsense,’ he said, sternly. ‘You’re not to talk like that, d’you hear? I’ve seen the police reports as well as the medical reports. There’s every chance that you saved her life. A fraction in any direction and that shot could have killed her.’

‘As it was, it just left her in a coma from which she has yet to wake up.’

‘But alive. She’s alive. And she’s a fighter – she’ll be right as ninepence in no time, thanks to you. As I say, I don’t know what she’d do without you.’

‘Thank you, sir. You’re very kind. Would you like to come up?’

Lady Hardcastle had been unconscious for seven days.

While Dobson had placed the Seddons under arrest, Constable Hancock and I carried Lady Hardcastle to Bert and the waiting car. We hurriedly explained what had happened and Bert drove at near-reckless speed towards Dr Fitzsimmons’s house in the village.

She was in his surgery for five hours as the doctor worked to remove the bullet and tried to repair the internal damage. He had been an army surgeon in his youth and it had taken all his considerable skill, but he eventually stemmed the bleeding and stitched her back together. After two days he judged it safe to move her back to her own bed but he paid regular visits to check on her progress.

Inspector Sunderland had visited, too. Her predicament clearly upset him and he had chided her for not letting him deal with it. If only we had waited half an hour longer, he said. If only.