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

by T E Kinsey

  ‘Afternoon, m’lady,’ said the sergeant with a smile.

  ‘What can we do for you? Is anything the matter?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure, m’lady,’ he said, tugging thoughtfully on his impressive moustache. ‘See the thing is, I’ve been getting reports all day about certain events last night, and a number of enquiries as to what exactly we intends to do about it. And to tell the truth, I doesn’t have the first idea what to say, let alone what to do. I wondered if you might be able to shed some light on it, as ’twere. I gathers you were both there last night.’

  ‘At The Dog and Duck? Yes, we were. I hadn’t been keen, but Armstrong persuaded me. I’m rather glad she did now.’

  ‘Right,’ said the sergeant. ‘So what exactly went on? The things I’ve heard don’t make no sense. No sense at all.’

  Between us we recounted the events of the previous evening and our visit to the pub that morning.

  The sergeant sat for a while, frowning. ‘I’m still not sure it makes sense, m’lady,’ he said at length.

  ‘Nor to me, Sergeant,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But that’s what we saw and heard. Have we left anything out do you think, Armstrong?’

  ‘No, my lady, that’s it, exactly as it happened,’ I said.

  ‘Well, now, you see, that puts me in rather a quandary,’ he said. ‘On the one hand, a most serious accusation has been made against Mr Snelson. On t’other, it’s been made by a ghost. I don’t pretend to know a great deal about the workings of the legal system, but I’d lay ten bob there i’n’t a court in the land as would prosecute a man on the say-so of a spirit.’

  ‘I think you’re right, sergeant,’ she said. ‘Have you tried talking to Mr Snelson?’

  ‘I just come from there, m’lady. He weren’t at home.’

  ‘No, nor when we went there earlier.’

  ‘You called on him?’

  ‘Yes, before lunch. I took his butler to mean that he wasn’t receiving callers, but if he won’t talk to you, perhaps he isn’t there at all.’

  ‘Couldn’t say, m’lady,’ said the sergeant. ‘I couldn’t get nothing out of the butler ’cept to be politely told to sling my hook.’

  Lady Hardcastle laughed. ‘A butler of the old school, that one,’ she said. ‘What say we join forces again and Armstrong and I do a little snooping for you? We’ll try to dig up whatever we can about the mysterious Mr Nelson Snelson and you can reassure a worried public that the police has matters well in hand and that you’re doing all you can to get to the bottom of it. I’d like to know a little bit more about our mysterious medium, too. Do you know anything about Madame Eugénie?’

  ‘Not a thing, m’lady. She arrived a couple of days ago in a trap from the station, installed herself in The Dog and Duck and a’n’t been seen much since ’cept for last night’s performance.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Performance. Yes. Well, we’ll have to see what we can rootle out about her, too.’

  ‘Right you are, m’lady,’ said the sergeant, standing up. ‘I appreciates your help, I really does.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, sergeant,’ she said, with another of her room-illuminating smiles. ‘It’s fun to have a project.’

  I showed the sergeant to the door, gave him his helmet, and sent him off with a cheery wave.

  I returned to the dining room and flopped into a chair.

  ‘How on earth are we supposed to deal with this one?’ I said with a sigh.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Well, we usually start by talking to witnesses and likely suspects and asking a few pertinent questions,’ I said.

  ‘Impertinent questions sometimes,’ she said.

  ‘Quite. But this time our most likely suspect is “not at home” and our best witness is a ghost.’

  She laughed. ‘A ghost, yes. But…’

  ‘But you don’t believe in ghosts, my lady, I know.’

  ‘Which means that I think there must be a more down-to-earth explanation for it all.’

  ‘But you saw him. You were there.’

  ‘That’s the part I can’t quite get past at the moment. Someone or something that very much resembled the traditional idea of a ghost quite definitely appeared in the room and I don’t yet doubt that Mr Snelson – wouldn’t it be too, too wonderful if his middle name were Belsen – that Mr Snelson was touched by the cold hand of… of something or other. And we know that everyone’s hands were on the table because we were all grasping each other’s wrists, and that the spirit was too far away. That’s what we know, at any rate.’

  ‘Others might know differently?’ I suggested.

  ‘You said yourself that we can’t very well question the ghost–’

  ‘We could hold another séance,’ I interrupted.

  ‘We could let Madame Eugénie fleece us for another séance, yes.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘But,’ she continued, ‘we can talk to one or two of the others to see if their stories match ours. And I’d very much like to find out a little more about this Eugénie character. What’s her story? How did Daisy find her?’

  ‘Daisy’s very interested in spiritualism, I think,’ I said. ‘I dimly recall Mrs Pantry from the grocer’s telling me something like that. I wish I paid more attention, but I tend to drift off once she gets going. She does like to chat.’

  ‘You think she moves in spiritualist circles, then?’

  ‘She would certainly know who the big names were,’ I said.

  ‘How are you two getting on these days? Is it worth your while bumping into her, say, at the butcher’s tomorrow? Having a little gossip? You’re curious about spiritualism, after all. You could subtly persuade her to blow the gaff on the secret world of spiritualism.’

  ‘Or just ask her what she knows about Madame Eugénie.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Or that. But don’t let on we’re dubious about her.’

  ‘We’re not. Are we?’ I said.

  ‘For now. What do you think? Can you do it?’

  ‘We’re not exactly pals, but we rub along better than we used to.’

  ‘So that’s settled, then,’ she continued. ‘You can nip to the butcher’s early tomorrow for some urgent hogget and have a chat with the butcher’s charming young daughter.’

  ‘Oooh, hogget,’ I said. ‘What an admirable idea. Hot pot, do you think? Or something more exotic?’

  ‘I rather fancy a curry,’ she said. ‘Memories of Bengal.’

  ‘I’ll see if there’s yoghurt at the diary,’ I said. ‘What shall you be doing?’

  ‘I thought I might pay a call on Dr Fitzsimmons. He wanted to look over the old war wound so I shall drop in and let him peruse the scar with a clinical eye and engage him in conversation about our shared evening of terror.’

  ‘Very well, my lady. And what of the rest of today?’

  ‘I need to finish something in the study, and you need to do some piano practice. And then I thought a light supper and cards.’

  ‘Light supper and cards it is, then, my lady.’

  ‘And piano practice.’

  ‘And then a light supper and cards.’

  She gave me her sternest look and I went into the drawing room and sat at the piano.

  The evening had ended with me winning six thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven pounds at piquet and Lady Hardcastle vowing never to play me again. We entered my winnings into our cards ledger and after a few minutes’ tipsy efforts at calculation we worked out that I now owed her three shillings and sixpence ha’penny. I slept well.

  The following dawn saw neither larks nor robins, but it did see yours truly scrubbing the kitchen flagstones. After breakfast, we went our separate ways, with Lady Hardcastle heading to one side of the green to see the doctor and me turning right to go to the other side of the green and the shop of A. Spratt, Butcher.

  The bell tinkled welcomingly as I opened the door. There was sawdust on the floor and a familiar smell in the air.
I find myself unable to describe it, that smell of meat and sawdust, but it’s the smell of a butcher’s shop. Mr Spratt was sharpening his knives behind the counter while his daughter Daisy sat on a high stool in the corner, poring over a ledger.

  ‘Morning, Miss Armstrong,’ said Mr Spratt with a smile. He was a large man, not quite fat, but meaty, as befits a butcher. The white stripes of his blue apron were stained with blood. ‘What can I do for you today, miss?’ he said, putting down his knife and steel and coming forward to the counter. ‘I’ve got some lovely sausages. Made fresh this morning. How about some lovely pork chops?’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Spratt. I was actually after some hogget.’

  ‘Hogget, eh? I’ve got just the thing. Nice bit of shoulder?’

  ‘Just what I’m looking for, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll be two shakes of a hogget’s tail, miss,’ he said, and disappeared into the back room.

  I sidled over to the other end of the counter and leaned on it. ‘Morning, Daisy,’ I said.

  She looked up from her adding. ‘Oh, good morning,’ she said, brightly. ‘I were so engrossed I didn’t even notice you come in. How are you today? How’s Lady Hardcastle getting on? Did you enjoy the séance t’other night? Wasn’t it amazing? Madame Eugénie is an extraordinary woman, isn’t she? To be able to do all that.’ It all tumbled out of her like someone had upended a bucket of words.

  ‘We’re both well, thank you,’ I said. ‘And we very much enjoyed the séance. It was a remarkable experience. Where on earth did you find such a gifted medium?’

  ‘Loads of people has been asking me that,’ she said, proudly. ‘I knows this woman in Woodworthy, see. I goes to see her for readings once a month when I can afford it. She does the cards and palms as well as contacting t’other side. She put me on to Madame Eugénie, said she was well known among the Birmingham spiritualists. Came highly recommended, she did. And they was right, weren’t they? She’s amazing. And who would have thought old Snelson was a murderer? Well, o’ course, I knew something was up with him the moment I saw him. He’s got beady eyes, see. You can always tell. And Our Ma reckons I’ve got the gift meself so o’ course I’d be able to see something in him, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Birmingham, you say?’ I said, trying to limit her to one subject at a time.

  ‘’S right,’ she said. ‘She’s a regular at spiritualist meetings up there.’

  ‘Well she certainly has the gift, doesn’t she,’ I said.

  ‘I can introduce you if you like. She was quite taken with me, she was. Said I was one of the best hostesses of a meeting she’d ever come across. Said I should be managing a theatre or something, she did.’

  ‘Did she, indeed? Well, well, well. Have you seen much of her?’

  ‘No, she keeps herself very much to herself, she does. Sensitive, see? Gots to rest. Takes it out of you, talking to t’other side.’

  ‘I dare say it does,’ I said.

  Mr Spratt reappeared with my joint of meat neatly wrapped. ‘There you go, m’dear. What have you got planned for that?’

  ‘I was thinking of a nice Bengali curry, Mr Spratt. A recipe I brought back from our travels.’

  ‘I could never get on with curries,’ he said. ‘We did try ’em, didn’t we, Dais?’

  Daisy nodded.

  ‘The missus is a lovely cook, but I never quite liked the taste. I prefers my food plain and simple, like my women.’ He laughed, but then looked worried. ‘Don’t tell Mrs Spratt I said that. She’d skin me.’

  ‘Your secret is safe with me, Mr Spratt,’ I said with a wink.

  ‘You too, Dais,’ he said, looking over at his daughter.

  ‘Right you are, Dad. I won’t tell Our Ma you said she was simple and plain.’

  Amid more teasing and laughter, I paid for the meat and bade my farewells.

  To my delight, the dairy did have some yoghurt and after a few more stops I had everything we needed for our Bengali supper. As I came out of the greengrocer’s I saw Lady Hardcastle on the far side of the green, on her way home from visiting Dr Fitzsimmons. I waved but she didn’t see me so I trotted round the green to meet her.

  ‘What ho, Flo,’ she said when she finally noticed me hurrying towards her. ‘All done?’

  ‘As much as I could manage without seeming odd,’ I said.

  ‘You, pet? Odd? Never.’

  ‘You’re most kind, my lady. I wanted to keep it natural and casual, and not at all as though I were quizzing her.’

  ‘Tell all, tiny servant. What did you learn?’

  I recounted my conversation with Daisy as closely as I could.

  ‘Birmingham is plenty to be getting on with,’ she said when I had finished. ‘I’d wager the spiritualist community is a small one, even in a city that large. She should be easy enough to track down now. Good work.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady. And what did the doctor have to say?’

  ‘The good doctor was a tad shaken up, I feel,’ she said.

  ‘Oh?’ I said. ‘How so?’

  ‘He had never spoken to Madame Eugénie before and yet, he said, she knew his late wife’s name. Even against all his better judgement he’s convinced that he really has had a message from her from the Great Beyond.’

  ‘He’s convinced, then?’

  ‘He very much is,’ she said. ‘And I think it’s comforted him as much as unnerving him. She died in childbirth, you know. Over thirty years ago. He said that not a day passes that he doesn’t think of her and feel at least a twinge of guilt for having brought her death upon her.’

  ‘I’m pleased,’ I said. ‘I’ve always liked Dr Fitzsimmons.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Lady Hardcastle, distractedly.

  ‘So what’s next, my lady?’ I said.

  ‘Lunch, I think, pet, don’t you?’

  ‘No, silly, I meant with our investigations. We’ve a murderer in our midst.’

  ‘So they say,’ she said, still rather distracted. ‘I wish that blessed telephone had been installed. I should rather like to speak to Inspector Sunderland. I’m sure he’d be able to find out all about Mr Snelson in a jiffy.’

  ‘Perhaps we could send a telegram,’ I said, helpfully.

  ‘I really rather think we should,’ she said. ‘He’s bound to have all the particulars. The police are good at that. They always take down a chap’s particulars.’

  ‘I say!’ I said. ‘How very forward of them.’

  We walked home, chuckling.

  We were settling down to elevenses in the kitchen the next day, about to tuck in to freshly brewed coffee and some ever-so-slightly stale cake, when the doorbell rang.

  ‘Well that’s just rude,’ said Lady Hardcastle, putting down her cup.

  ‘It is, my lady,’ I said as I got up. ‘People should be aware by now that you always settle down for coffee and a bun at eleven o’clock. Except on the days when it’s a quarter to eleven. Or half past ten. Or on the days when we don’t bother at all. It’s frightfully ill-mannered of them not to know.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m well enough to wield a carpet beater, Flo dear. Answer the door.’

  It was Sergeant Dobson again.

  ‘Mornin’, miss,’ he said. ‘Is Lady Hardcastle at home?’

  ‘Of course, Sergeant. Please come in.’

  He stepped inside and I placed his helmet on the hall table as usual. ‘We were in the kitchen,’ I said, showing him through.

  ‘Good morning, Sergeant,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we came in. ‘Please sit down. Would you care to join us for coffee?’

  ‘That would be most welcome, m’lady,’ he said, making himself comfortable on a kitchen chair. He looked around at the cake tins. ‘Are you planning a party, m’lady?’

  She laughed. ‘We probably should,’ she said. ‘But no. Being cooped up here by the foul weather has driven poor Armstrong to a frenzy of baking. You must take some back to the station with you. I’m sure constable Hancock would enjoy a cake with his afternoon tea.’

>   ‘That’s very kind, m’lady. The lad could do with a bit of fattening up. All skin and bones he is.’

  She smiled. As I poured the him a cup of coffee, she said, ‘How may we help you this morning, Sergeant?’

  ‘I was just wondering if you’d made any progress with your enquiries,’ he said. ‘Only there’s been more goings-on at the pub.’

  ‘More?’ she said, incredulously.

  ‘More, m’lady,’ he said with a nod. ‘Nothing new, mind. Just stuff moved about and a fresh message on the scoreboard.’

  ‘And what did this fresh message say?’ she asked.

  ‘Similar to t’other one. Let me see…’ He produced a small notebook from the breast pocket of his tunic and leafed through it. ‘“Nelson – murderer” it said. And then that signature that everyone reckons says Mummy Bear.’

  ‘And no one saw or heard anything, I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘No, m’lady. Joe and his missus sleeps the sleep of the just by all accounts and Madame Eugénie hasn’t been seen ’cept to open the door a crack and take her meals, so no one knows what she might have seen.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘And are we any closer to finding out what it might mean?’

  ‘No one has been able to speak to Mr Nelson hisself,’ he said. ‘But young Hancock telephoned the Gloucester police yesterday to see if they knows anything about him. We’re expecting their reply today.’

  ‘Then we shall have to be patient. Do you think Joe would mind us dropping in to the pub to have a nosy?’

  ‘Matter of fact, he asked if you wouldn’t mind doing just that, m’lady. He’s all of a pother; given him quite a turn, all this has. And he knows you’re a lady of science and all, he’d welcome a rational point of view, I reckons.’

  ‘Then let’s enjoy our coffee and cake and we can all go round there together,’ she said, and raised her coffee cup in salute.

  We chatted over our elevenses but didn’t dawdle. Sergeant Dobson became quite animated on the subject of the fortunes of the local rugby club, who were due to play Clifton in a couple of weeks’ time in the semifinal of a cup competition whose name, I’m embarrassed to say, went in one ear and straight out the other. When we were all quite finished, Lady Hardcastle and I put on our hats and coats and we all three left together for the short walk into the village.