The Spirit Is Willing (The Lady Hardcastle Mysteries Book 2)

by T E Kinsey

  ‘Oh,’ said Lady Hardcastle again. ‘We were rather counting on the poison pointing us to the killer. We’ve been asking the local farmers what poisons they keep.’

  ‘Excellent work, my lady,’ he said. ‘Exactly what I would have done. But no interview is ever wasted. Impressions and feelings can take you just as far as facts in the quest for the truth.’

  ‘I don’t disagree, Inspector,’ she said. ‘But we can’t take our impressions to a magistrate. Facts are so much more compelling, wouldn’t you say?’

  He chuckled. ‘I do like a nice cold fact, my lady, yes. But they seem a bit thin on the ground in this case.’

  ‘Quite,’ she said.

  ‘What do you suggest we do next?’ I asked, trying to buck them both up. ‘We were thinking of going into Chipping Bevington to interview the staff at The Hayrick.’

  ‘Well, I’d not stop you if your hearts are set on it,’ he said. ‘But I went over there myself when I had a spare afternoon on Saturday.’ He took another sheet from the folder and passed it to me.

  I read it through quickly. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘They saw nothing, they heard nothing, they know nothing. It might be something of a wasted journey, my lady.’ I passed her the report.

  ‘Well pish and the fiddliest of sticks,’ she said. ‘I’m stumped.’

  ‘For the moment, my lady,’ said the inspector, ‘so am I. Unless a witness comes forward and tells us exactly what happened, I’m rather afraid to say that this might have to remain unsolved.’

  ‘That will never do, Inspector,’ said Lady Hardcastle with sudden passion. ‘Never do at all. I refuse to be beaten. I’m going to assume that Mr Carmichael was poisoned by person or persons unknown and I’m going to make it my business to know them. We owe his widow and son that, if no one else.’

  ‘Unless it turns out that they were the ones that killed him, my lady,’ said the inspector sagely.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That would be doing them a disservice after all. But no.’ Her resolve returned. ‘If they did him in then they must be brought to justice. This is England. We don’t just ignore the law when it suits us or when we find that we like the criminal more than we like his victim.’

  ‘Hear hear,’ said the inspector with a smile. ‘I just wanted you to consider the consequences, that’s all. More often than not in a case like this, it’s the wife’s doing.’

  ‘We must let things unfold as they may, Inspector,’ she said. ‘We shall solve this.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said. ‘May I have another slice of that cake, please, Miss Armstrong? It’s quite delicious.’

  I helped him to another slice of Madeira and poured more coffee for all of us.

  ‘How’s Mrs Sunderland?’ said Lady Hardcastle while I poured. ‘Is she well?’

  ‘Very well indeed, thank you, my lady. She sends her regards.’

  ‘Thank you, dear. And you must pass my best wishes on to her, too. We haven’t seen her since the espionage trial.’

  ‘No, my lady, and she was quite taken with you and your brother. We’d never been to London together, either, so all in all it was quite the adventure. I’m sure we promised to invite you round for dinner. I’m sorry we haven’t managed it.’

  ‘It’s been quite the week for apologies of that sort, dear, I shouldn’t worry about it. We’re still trying to arrange to host Sir Hector and Lady Farley-Stroud for supper but that seems trickier than one would have imagined. I say, you wouldn’t care to join us? Make a bit more of a party of it?’

  ‘It’s a lovely offer, my lady, but I should need to ask Mrs Sunderland first. I shouldn’t like to impose Lady Farley-Stroud on her without at least a warning.’

  Lady Hardcastle laughed. ‘Gertie’s a sweetie; they’d rub along splendidly. But don’t fret. I say, how about we treat you to supper in Bristol? There must be a restaurant in town that you’ve been dying to go to. It would save poor Mrs Sunderland from having to cater for two extra mouths and it would give us the chance to get together, away from murderers and spies.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you, my lady, I shall consult Mrs Sunderland. But I should expect that she’ll still insist on having you round at some point. She’s a fine cook and she does like to entertain.’

  ‘That’s agreed, then,’ said Lady Hardcastle delightedly. ‘We shall do both. Flo, dear, make a note.’

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. ‘My lady, I should love to. But…’

  ‘Oh, I know, I know,’ she said exasperatedly. ‘I have the blessed notebook.’ She began hunting through the confusion of drawing paper and pencils on the table beside her.

  ‘It was a gift from Inspector Sunderland, my lady,’ I said. ‘One would have thought that you’d at least pretend to take better care of it while the poor man is in the room.’

  ‘I much preferred her when I was ill, Inspector,’ she said. ‘She wasn’t nearly so impertinent when she was having to feign concern for me.’

  ‘You weren’t ill, my lady,’ I said. ‘You were injured. And I was just as impertinent as ever, it’s just that the laudanum made you too doolally to notice.’

  The inspector laughed. ‘I have missed you two,’ he said. ‘It’s good to have you properly back among us, my lady.’

  ‘It was the good friends I’ve made here that gave me the strength to recover, Inspector. Thank you,’ she said. ‘I say, look at the time. Do you have to dash off? Or can you stay for lunch?’

  ‘I’m not expected back at the station until much later, my lady,’ he said. ‘If it wouldn’t be an imposition, lunch would be most welcome.’

  I took that as my cue to tidy away the coffee things and prepare lunch.

  The road to Tuesday is paved with good intentions. We had intended that Monday should be a busy day, a productive day, and had begun that day suffused with a resolve to crack the case. But coffee with Inspector Sunderland turned into lunch with Inspector Sunderland which turned into an afternoon of chatter and gossip with Inspector Sunderland which turned into a piano recital from Lady Hardcastle where we also discovered that the inspector was a rather accomplished baritone who had sung in the Bristol Cathedral choir as a boy. By the time he left to walk into the village to find someone to give him a lift to the station in Chipping Bevington, it was too late to do anything very much but prepare supper and sing more silly songs until bedtime.

  Tuesday morning saw us both up with the blackbird (there being no sign of my newfound friend, the robin) but now that we had learned that the poison was unknown and that not even an experienced professional policeman had any idea how to proceed with the case, we were once again at a loss for something to do.

  ‘There was a don when I was up at Girton,’ said Lady Hardcastle, looking out of the window at the bright spring morning. ‘Taught me physics. He used to say, “Miss Featherstonhaugh, whenever I find a problem intractable, I like to go for a long walk. Hills are best. Or Forests. A forested hill is absolutely ideal. It’s a shame our founders saw fit to build the university in Cambridgeshire. Very short on hills and forests. But the lanes suffice. Walk, Miss Featherstonhaugh. It will clear your mind and the solution will come.” And over the years, his advice has repeatedly been proven sound. What do you say, Flo? Combe Woods? We haven’t ever properly explored there. Perhaps the fresh air will inspire us.’

  ‘Perhaps it will at that, my lady. Would you like to go now?’

  ‘Why not, pet. We’re just going to mope about here otherwise. Let us find appropriate foot coverings and vestments and hie us to the forest.’

  ‘Boots and coats, my lady. Right you are.’

  ‘And my stick.’

  ‘Really, my lady? You’re sticking with the stick?’

  ‘Possibly not in the long term,’ she said. ‘But a stick is always handy on a sylvan perambulation.’

  ‘Very good, my lady,’ I said, and we prepared ourselves for our walk in the woods.

  As we walked into the village we were greeted by the postman, and Hilda Pantry waved to
us from across the green as she gave the windows of her grocer’s shop a wipe down with a piece of damp scrim.

  We set out on the other road, up towards the woods, and found our way into the clearing where we had found Mr Pickering hanging from the oak tree the previous summer. Then, instead of heading back down the familiar path towards Toby Thompson’s dairy farm, we took the path on the other side of the clearing which we imagined would take us deeper into the woods.

  ‘I say,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we tramped along the still-muddy path. ‘This is more like it, eh, Flo? I’ve missed our little walks.’

  ‘Me too, my lady,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve learned a few things, too. Is that a beech tree?’

  ‘No, pet, that’s a sycamore.’

  ‘I was close though, eh?’ I said with a grin.

  ‘No, dear, not really. But you get marks for trying.’

  We laughed and strolled on.

  After a few more minutes we came to another, smaller clearing and had a choice of paths. We took the left one and I soon saw something that would definitely improve my standing as a nature spotter. With birds and trees I stood no chance, but I prided myself that I knew a thing or two about food, and when I saw a clump of mushrooms growing in the shade of an unidentified tree I strode boldly forwards and said, ‘Chanterelles.’

  Lady Hardcastle laughed delightedly and I was bending down to gather some when I was stopped in my tracks by a booming parade-ground voice yelling, ‘Stop!’

  Startled, we both turned to see who had shouted. A small, trim, elderly man was striding towards us. His clothes and cap were worn but meticulously well-maintained, and his lined face was red with rage.

  ‘What the blue blazes do you think you’re doing?’ he barked. ‘Don’t you stupid people know nothing?’

  ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ said Lady Hardcastle, calmly. ‘I’m Lady Hardcastle and this is my maid, Armstrong.’

  ‘One more step and she’ll be your former maid, the late Miss Armstrong,’ he said, moving to grab my arm.

  I stepped to one side and grasped his wrist, pulling it up and back into one of the pleasingly effective holds I’d learned during our time in China.

  ‘Please don’t do that, sir,’ I said, just as calmly as Lady Hardcastle. ‘It makes me anxious when people do that.’

  He laughed. ‘It’s all right, Miss Armstrong,’ he said. ‘You can put me down. I were trying to stop you harming yourselves, that’s all.’

  I released the hold and stepped away, alert for retaliation.

  ‘That’s quite a talent you have there, miss,’ he said, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Quite a talent.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Would you care to explain yourself, Mr…?’

  ‘Halfpenny,’ he said with a nod. ‘Jedediah Halfpenny. Folk round here call me Old Jed. Can’t say I care for it overmuch, but it seems to please ’em.’

  ‘How do you do, Mr Halfpenny,’ I said. ‘And how were you saving us from harm?’

  ‘Thy’s the second damn fool I’ve seen round here this past fortnight pickin’ them damn mushrooms,’ he said. ‘They’re deadly webcap, Miss Armstrong, not blessed chanterelles. If thy wants chanterelles get to a fancy bloomin’ greengrocer, or learn the difference.’

  I was stunned. ‘I take it from the name that deadly webcap aren’t terribly good for you.’

  ‘No, miss, clue’s in’t name, just as you say.’

  ‘I say,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Oh, I say!’ she said again more forcefully.

  ‘What, my lady?’ I said.

  ‘Mushrooms, dear, don’t you see? Poisonous mushrooms.’

  Realization dawned on me slightly more slowly, but I go there. ‘An unidentified, deadly poison,’ I said. ‘Do you think this is it?’

  ‘Do you know who it was that was picking the mushrooms, Mr Halfpenny?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Can’t say I know many of the folk round here by name,’ he said. ‘I try to keep meself to meself.’

  ‘But could you describe him?’

  ‘Can’t say as how I could, no,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘He were over here, helpin’ ’imself, then he were off ’fore I could get a proper look or even say owt. Stupid beggar.’

  ‘He harvested some of these?’ she said.

  ‘Aye. Took a few by the look,’ he said, frowning slightly.

  ‘Are they dangerous to touch?’ I said.

  ‘Touching them won’t do you no harm, but if you get even a tiny bit on your fingers and then it gets into your mouth from there, you’ve ’ad it.’

  ‘Instantly?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘What? No, takes a while. Up to a week sometimes.’

  ‘Up to a week, Flo. Don’t you see what this means?’ she said, turning to me.

  ‘Not entirely, my lady, no.’

  ‘It means we’ve been idiots, she said. ‘We’ve been looking for fast-acting poisons that someone could have given him on the day he was killed, or the day before, but what if he was poisoned with these deadly webwhatsits a whole week before?’

  ‘On market day…’ I said.

  ‘…at The Hayrick…’ she said.

  ‘…in the beef and mushroom pie!’ I finished. ‘Gracious. Do you really think so?’

  ‘Well, it’s better than anything we’ve come up with so far. We need to talk to whatshisname at the pub.’

  ‘Ronnie, my lady.’

  ‘That’s the chap. He cooked the pies.’

  ‘But he didn’t serve them; he was behind the bar. It was “the girl” who brought them out.’

  ‘Plump woman with no teeth? Yes, she’d have to be in on it. Make sure the right man got the deadly pie,’ she said

  ‘And suddenly it’s all terribly far-fetched again. Now it’s a conspiracy,’ I said, dejectedly.

  ‘Pardon me, ladies,’ said Halfpenny, politely.

  ‘Yes, Mr Halfpenny?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘To tell t’ truth, I prefer Jed, missus. But that i’n’t it. Are you saying someone’s been poisoned wi’ these mushrooms?’

  ‘It certainly looks that way, Jed,’ she said, and briefly recounted the events of the previous week.

  ‘I see,’ he said when she had finished. ‘Well it weren’t a woman, I can tell thee that.’

  ‘Could you even see if he were young or old?’ she said.

  ‘No, just saw a figure over here in t’ woods and by the time I got here, he were gone and so were t’ mushrooms.’

  ‘If nothing else, it does give us a new poison to investigate,’ I said.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Jed, it was a genuine pleasure to meet you. Is there a way we can contact you if we or the police need to talk to you again?’

  ‘Police? Aye, I reckon they knows where to find me.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said.

  ‘I’m “known” t’police,’ he said. ‘They reckon I’m a poacher.’

  ‘And are you?’

  He chuckled. ‘Never been convicted, so I don’t reckon so, no.’

  She smiled. ‘But they know where to find you.’

  ‘Aye, they do. Old caravan over there a way.’ He pointed deeper into the woods.

  ‘Thank you, Jed, you’ve helped more than you know.’

  ‘P’raps you could explain it to me some time.’

  ‘I promise. Over there, you say? We’ll come and find you. But for now you will excuse us, won’t you. I rather think we’ve got a few fresh things to ponder upon and I need tea and a blackboard.’

  He chuckled and bowed. ‘As you wish, ma’am.’

  We turned and walked back the way we had come, while Jed vanished back into the woods behind us.

  ‘Unusual man,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we walked back towards the road, filled with a newfound enthusiasm for the case.

  ‘I rather liked him,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I was definitely warming to him,’ she said. ‘And he seems like a very reliable witness. Oh, Flo, we’ve been so dense.’

  ‘Dense, my lady
?’

  ‘All that messing about with rat poisons and who’d popped round for a cuppa. We should have been thinking on a much grander scale.’

  ‘We should?’

  ‘Always, pet. Always.’

  It seemed like no time at all before we reached the road.

  ‘Would you be an absolute poppet and nip up to The Grange to see if we can borrow Bert tomorrow? I think we need to go into Bristol.’

  ‘Certainly, my lady. You don’t want to come? Lady Farley-Stroud would be delighted to see you.’

  ‘I know she would, dear, and that’s the problem. I do love the old biddy, but we’d end up gossiping for hours. We’ve got to get on.’

  I laughed. ‘Right you are, my lady. Shall I get him round for nine o’clock?’

  ‘Nine?’ she said, dismayed. ‘Oh, I supposed so. The early bird catches the whatnot.’

  By nine, the early bird and I would have caught any number of whatnots and done half a day’s work, but I decided to keep schtum and instead turned left up the hill towards The Grange while she walked brightly into the village and then home.

  Lady Hardcastle had given no further hints about her new suspicions and I knew her well enough just to leave her in peace while she thought things through. After supper on Tuesday evening we had sat in companionable silence in the drawing room, with her leafing through her little notebook and occasionally scribbling additional thoughts across the page while I wrote my journal. From time to time she would get up and go into the dining room where I heard the tap of the chalk on the Crime Board. We retired early and I promised not to tease her too much about having to get up early for our trip to Bristol.

  I managed to get her up on Wednesday morning with only minimal ragging and we were both washed, dressed and breakfasted in plenty of time for Bert’s customarily prompt arrival as the hall clock struck nine.

  ‘I swear he must arrive early and wait round the bend in the road,’ said Lady Hardcastle, buttoning her glove. ‘How can a man be so perfectly punctual all the time?’

  I opened the door. ‘Good morning, Bert,’ I said. ‘How do you manage it?’

  ‘Morning, miss,’ said a slightly puzzled Bert. ‘Manage what?’