by T E Kinsey
‘Just checkin’ you’s all right, m’dear,’ he said. ‘Not too shook up?’
‘I’m fine, Joe, thank you. It’s just that it’ll be dawn soon and I want to report back to Lady Hardcastle as soon as I can. Are you all right?’
‘Right as rain, miss,’ he said with a toothless grin. ‘I’s just glad someone else was here to see it all. Thought I was going mad for a while.’
‘No, Joe, not mad at all. There’s something going on here, that’s for certain. I just wish I knew what.’
‘What we going to do about the new message?’ he asked.
‘I think we should let Sergeant Dobson know. He should be able to get in touch with the Gloucester police and see if they know anything about Long Lane Farm. In the meantime, I think Lady Hardcastle has a few things she wants to look into, so between us we should get to the bottom of all this very soon.’
‘Right you are, miss,’ he said, standing aside so I could get down the stairs.
The morning air was crisp and chill, but the skies were clear and I sensed a beautiful spring day in the offing.
Lady Hardcastle was still fast asleep when I let myself in, so I dropped my bag in the hall and set about getting breakfast going and making up a tray for her. As I busied myself in the kitchen I was struck with the sudden realization that I had been most foolish in my haste to get home: Joe had promised me a nice big country breakfast. Ah, well, it couldn’t be helped. He got his bacon, eggs, bread, tomatoes and mushrooms from the same places we did, after all, so it’s not as though he was going to be giving me any local delicacies that I wouldn’t have at home. And he wasn’t the world’s most gifted chef, either, so it was unlikely to be a great luxury. Except, of course, that the great luxury would be someone else doing all the cooking, no matter how inexpertly, and serving it to me on a huge platter while I sat at a table in the snug and sipped strongly-brewed tea from a great big mug. Harrumph.
With a cup of tea and a round of buttered toast on the tray I went upstairs and knocked on her bedroom door. There was no answer, so I opened it and went in. She stirred a little at the sound of the teacup rattling in its saucer as I negotiated the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
‘Is that you, Flo?’ she said blearily.
‘Let’s hope so, eh?’ I said. ‘Although a burglar that made you tea and toast wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome.’
‘Not entirely, no. What are you doing here? I thought you’d still be at the pub, living it up on bacon and eggs and slabs of toast.’
‘That was the plan, my lady,’ I said. ‘But we were awakened early and by the time all was done, I thought I may as well come home. Good thing I did, by the look of it – you seem to have had some poltergeist activity of your own while I was away.’
‘What do you mean, pet?’ she said, sitting up.
‘There are clothes everywhere,’ I said.
‘Oh pish and fiddlesticks. Not everywhere. Just in that pile there. I didn’t think I should pick them up. I’ve been poorly; I have to take it easy.’
‘Take it easy, my lady? If you took it any easier you’d be in a coma.’
‘Oh, let’s not make a fuss about a few clothes on the floor, what got you up in the middle of the night? Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties?’
‘And things that smash jugs in the night, yes.’
‘Tell all,’ she said.
I sat on the bed and gave her a brief outline of the morning’s events. She listened attentively while she munched on the toast and when I was done, she sat in quiet contemplation for a few moments.
‘Was Joe going to tell Sergeant Dobson about the new message?’ she said at length.
‘I didn’t ask him to specifically,’ I said. ‘But you know what those two are like. We can pop up to the police station later, but I’d lay five bob the sergeant already knows by the time we get there.’
‘A safe bet, I’d say, pet. But I’d still like to trot up there after lunch just to make certain.’
‘Of course, my lady,’ I said. I stood and picked up the tray from her lap. ‘If you can find your way out of the room through the trail of devastation you’ve left behind, breakfast proper will be in about fifteen minutes.’
‘Thank you, pet,’ she said. ‘Of course you could always pick it all up for me.’
‘And I shall, of course. But after breakfast,’ I said and returned to the kitchen to leave her to gather herself.
Breakfast was every bit as delicious as anything Joe could have prepared and we chatted more about the events of the previous evening.
‘To be perfectly truthful,’ I said, ‘I was a tiny bit disappointed.’
‘How so?’ she said, spearing another sausage with her fork.
‘Well, it was just more bumping and clattering and a fresh message in the skittle alley. I was expecting something fresh and thrilling, I suppose.’
‘It does sound a little anticlimactic,’ she said. ‘Although being locked in your room was a new twist.’
‘It certainly makes genuine ghostly activity seem far less likely.’
‘I’m so sorry, but it really does,’ she said, patting my arm.
I smiled. ‘I’m not so enthralled by spiritualism that I don’t know that there are charlatans–’
‘–and mountebanks–’
‘–indeed. One but swindler doesn’t make it all a lie. I’m beggared if I can work out how she’s doing it, though. Or why.’
‘I think I might have an idea or two there,’ she said. ‘I need to write a letter first, just to confirm a few things, but I’m also waiting for a reply from the solicitors so it will be a day or two before we can move.’
‘Move, my lady?’ I said.
‘Oh yes, pet. We’ll definitely be making our move.’
‘Will we have time? What if Madame Eugénie does a moonlight before we can confront her?’
‘If I’m right, she’ll be lurking about for a few days yet. We’ve plenty of time.’
‘Right you are, my lady,’ I said. ‘Another crumpet?’
‘Tempting, but I think not. I’d best get off and write that letter, then we can post it on the way to see the sergeant.’
‘Jolly good. I’ll get this lot tidied away and then sort out the chaos you left on the floor last night.’
‘Already done, dear girl. You shamed me into it.’
I was still grinning as I started the washing up.
By the time the kitchen was shipshape, Lady Hardcastle had written her letter, so we dressed for the outdoors and walked to the village post office together. With the letter posted, we called in on the police station where we found Constable Hancock engaged in some cleaning and tidying of his own. He told us that Sergeant Dobson had indeed telephoned a detective in Gloucester that morning and that he had been told that they would look into the matter.
There was nothing to do now, but wait.
And so wait we did.
The day passed in pleasant enough fashion, with a light lunch, a walk in the woods, and an afternoon of chores and correspondence. We rounded it all off with a very pleasant supper of coq-au-vin, cooked in, and accompanied by, an extremely pleasant red Burgundy which the new vintners had delivered the previous week. We rounded the evening off with cheese and port while Lady Hardcastle played some exquisitely melancholy music at the piano.
Two days later, we were settling down to elevenses at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. It was Sergeant Dobson and I invited him to join us.
‘Thank you kindly, miss,’ he said, dropping his helmet on the hall table and following me to the kitchen.
‘Sergeant Dobson, my lady,’ I said, and went to the dresser to fetch a cup, saucer and plate for him.
‘My dear sergeant,’ she said warmly. ‘Always a pleasure to see you. Please, take a seat. Cake?’
‘Thank you, m’lady,’ he said, and helped himself to a large slice of Victoria sponge.
‘And what can we do for you today?’ she asked once he’d finished hi
s first mouthful.
‘This is a grand cake, miss, thank you,’ he said. ‘As to my visit, I thought you’d be interested to know that I have this very morning arrested Mr Nelson Snelson on a charge of murdering his former business partner, Mr Emmanuel Bean.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Why ever did you do that?’
He looked slightly nonplussed. ‘Orders from Gloucester, m’lady. Seems they went to Long Lane Farm and searched the place for the strongbox. They found it, they opened it, and inside it they found certain evidence that implicated Mr Snelson in the murder. They telephoned me this morning to tell me to arrest him. They have one or two things they want to check on and then someone will be travelling down on the train tomorrow to pick him up.’
‘Dear, oh dear,’ she said. ‘This will never do. Never do at all.’
The sergeant and I exchanged puzzled glances, but we both knew that nothing would come of asking her to explain herself. I was saved from having to pursue it further by the clatter of the post on the mat.
‘Go and fetch that for me, would you, pet,’ she said. ‘I’m expecting some replies.’
I went out to the hall and returned with four letters.
‘Hand them over, pet, quick sticks,’ said Lady Hardcastle impatiently. She immediately discarded two, muttering, ‘Bills,’ but eagerly opened the first of the remaining two. She read it intently, smiled and moved on to the next. At length she refolded both letters and tapped them thoughtfully on the table.
‘That makes things a great deal clearer,’ she said. ‘Now, Sergeant, we shall have to leave you to your duties – we have some errands to run. Please convey our good wishes to Mr Snelson. I’m hopeful that we’ll have enough information to release him before tomorrow morning.’
The sergeant looked at her quizzically. ‘I’ve known you long enough now not to doubt you, m’lady, but I think it would be an unkindness to tell him that. I have every confidence in you, but I’d not like the man’s hopes dashed. We’ll treat him with our usual courtesy but I’ll keep that little nugget to myself for the time being.’
‘Of course, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘I think that would be for the best, too. Nevertheless, we’ll have him freed before lunch tomorrow.’
‘As you say, m’lady,’ he said. He stood to leave. ‘Thank you for the tea, m’lady. And thank you for the delicious cake, miss.’
I stood.
‘Don’t trouble yourself, miss,’ he said. ‘I can see myself out. You just mind you find what you need to find. I confess I’ve quite warmed to Mr Snelson and I’d not like to see him hanged.’
He knuckled his forehead and left the kitchen. A moment later we heard the front door close.
‘Righto, Flo dear, we need our driving togs; I have an appointment in the city.’
‘You do, my lady?’ I said. ‘Something in one of your letters?’
‘Indeed. You can keep me company on the drive, but I’m afraid I shall have to leave you in the motorcar during the meeting.’
‘Very good, my lady,’ I said.
We got up from the table and I cleared the cups and plates away.
‘Would you like to drive?’ she said from the door.
‘Do you know, my lady, I rather think I would. Can I have a peaked cap?’
She laughed. ‘We shall visit a milliner at the earliest opportunity. But don’t get used to it, I rather enjoy driving; we’ll have to share.’
We were ready within a quarter of an hour and after a couple of failed attempts to start the Rover, we were on our way into Bristol.
I’d driven the car around the lanes a few times when it had first been delivered, but this was my first proper journey. I loved it. Being in control of such a powerful and sophisticated machine was a thrill beyond imagining and we puttered down the Gloucester Road and into the heart of the city. Lady Hardcastle was navigating and directed me towards Old Market where I was instructed to pull up outside the Empire, Bristol’s most famous music hall.
‘I’m so sorry to have to leave you out here, pet,’ she said as she got out of the motorcar and adjusted her coat on the pavement. ‘But he has agreed to see me only on the condition that I come alone.’
‘He who?’ I said.
She smiled. ‘All in good time, pet. Just wait here like a good chauffeuse. Polish the car or something. Isn’t that what they do?’
I muttered mutinously, suggesting that she could bally well polish it herself, but she was already on her way down the alleyway beside the theatre, heading for the stage door.
As it turns out, being a chauffeuse is a rather pleasing occupation. I had brought my journal with me and spent a pleasantly relaxed hour bringing it up to date in the comfort of the tiny motorcar. I was sure I’d have had less fun if the weather were any cooler, but it was another mild, spring day and I was almost disappointed when at last Lady Hardcastle emerged once more from the alley and clambered aboard. I put away my journal and pen and got out to start the engine.
‘All done, my lady?’ I said.
‘All done,’ she said.
‘Where to now, my lady?’ I said, climbing back into the driving seat.
‘Home, I think.’
‘Right you are, my lady.’
‘But I’ll want to stop off at The Dog and Duck on the way.’
‘As you wish, my lady,’ I said, and pulled smoothly away from the kerb.
The journey home was as enjoyable as the journey out, and we were soon outside the pub in the village. I left the engine running while Lady Hardcastle dashed inside, and within moments she was back out and we were on the last leg, up the lane to the house.
Lady Hardcastle resisted all my attempts to prise further information from her during the afternoon. The weather had slowly deteriorated and another storm was brewing by the time I finally persuaded her to give me at least a clue as to what was going on.
‘Oh, very well,’ she huffed. ‘I’m still not going to let you spoil my surprise – Emily must have her moment – but you should lay out our finery for this evening; we’re going to another séance.’
I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing; getting even that much was victory enough for now.
By the time we had eaten supper and changed for the pub, the storm was well and truly underway, with rain once more lashing the windows and the sound of distant thunder rumbling in across the hills.
We were drenched when we reached the pub, and I was glad that Daisy didn’t keep us waiting too long at the door before letting us in. The room was laid out exactly as it had been for the first séance and I was astonished to see that Mr Snelson was there, along with the rest of the original guests. I raised an eyebrow at Lady Hardcastle, but she shook her head. Sergeant Dobson was behind the bar with his friend Joe Arnold, but he was still in uniform and obviously still on duty, whatever the pint of cider in his hand might have suggested.
‘Thank you all for coming,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I know it was horribly short notice and you’ve all probably got much better things to be getting on with, but I just needed to make one more attempt to communicate with the spirits before we can finally see justice done.’
There were murmurs and nods of acknowledgement from around the table.
‘Daisy, dear, do you think Madame Eugénie might be ready now?’
‘I’ll just go and see, m’lady,’ said Daisy, but before she reached the door, it opened and in swept Madame Eugénie in her lacy black dress.
‘Good evening, my dears,’ she said dreamily as she wafted to the table and sat in her chair. ‘I can feel that the spirits are anxious to commune with us this night. Is everyone ready?’
There were more murmurs which she took as assent.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Let us begin. You remember the procedure from last time, I trust? Grasp your neighbour’s right wrist with your left hand and under no circumstances break the circle. Once we begin, that circle will be our only protection.’
We managed to link hands much more easily this time
and once again, Madame Eugénie asked Daisy to turn down the lamp. In the darkness, Dr Fitzsimmons once again found her wrist and we waited in silence. A flash of lightening so bright that it could be seen even though the windows were tightly shuttered was followed by a booming crash of thunder so loud and so sudden that there were screams and gasps from around the table and a flutter of movement as several people raised their hands in shock.
‘Calm, please, my dears,’ said Madame Eugénie’s dreamy voice. ‘Re-form the circle and we shall begin.’
There was more rustling and fidgeting as everyone made fresh contact with their neighbour’s wrist and after a few moments the room fell silent once more with only the hammering of the rain on the windows to break the peace.
‘Spirits, we implore you, join us. Join us and share your knowledge and wisdom that we might see justice done,’ said Madame Eugénie.
As before, there was a knock on the table but this time, there was an answering, lighter knock. Once more the louder knock, as though the spirit were testing, and once more, the lighter reply.
‘Who calls me at this hour?’ said Madame Eugénie in the gravelly voice we now knew to be her spirit guide Monsieur Diderot. ‘Is that you, Madame Eugénie?’
‘It is I, Monsieur Diderot,’ she said in her usual voice. ‘We seek answers in the matter we spoke of last time. We have been troubled by an unquiet spirit. Is it Emmanuel Bean? Is he there? Does he have anything else to tell us?’
‘He is here,’ said the gravelly voice. ‘He is greatly troubled. He craves one more chance to avenge himself by revealing the truth of his death.’
‘Let him come forth,’ she said, dreamily. ‘Let him cross over.’
There was a chilly gust and once more, the ghostly white figure that had appeared last time was among us. He raised his chalk-white arm and pointed once again at Mr Snelson. His mouth opened to speak, but instead it was Lady Hardcastle who said, ‘Now, Sergeant Dobson, if you please.’
