A Quiet Life in the Country (The Lady Hardcastle Mysteries Book 1)

by T E Kinsey

  There were two doors into the library, one at either end of the room. Most of the traffic in and out of the room so far had been through the door nearest the hall, but the musicians’ cases were at the other end of the room and it seemed to me that anyone leaving the room in a hurry after a struggle would come out of the far door. It was nearer to the cases they’d been searching through and it was farther from the entrance hall and wandering guests.

  I decided to try to put myself into the mind of the killer, to see what he or she saw, to retrace his steps and perhaps find what he might have tried to conceal. I went into the library through the nearer door and took a look around.

  The cases were still where we had found them yesterday, but now covered in a thin dusting of fingerprint powder. I stood among them, imagining myself in the role of the burglar, searching frantically through them, terrified that I might be interrupted at any moment. Was I looking for something? Or was I looking for somewhere to hide something? In the present, the real me had no idea. I’d picked up the trumpet case when the door behind me opened. I had turned. It was the trumpet player himself. He had challenged me, then saw what I was doing and charged. We struggled and I hit him… with the trumpet case. He fell. He was out cold. I could hear the door handle again, so I fled out through the nearest door and into the corridor just as someone came into the room behind me. Had they seen me? I had to get rid of the trumpet case. Perhaps I’d had time to conceal something in it, or perhaps what I was looking for was still in it. Either way, I had to put it somewhere I could find it again so I could search it properly and retrieve the mystery item. Somewhere it wouldn’t be seen. Somewhere easy to reach. I had to hurry.

  Back in the present I stood in the corridor and looked at the ornate Chinese cabinet opposite the library door, the one Haddock had misidentified as a reproduction yesterday. I’d seen that cabinet several times before and it had never struck me as particularly interesting until Sir Hector had told me a little of its history, but now, in my imaginary panic, it stood out as my potential salvation.

  A vase of dried flowers stood on top of the cabinet, next to the revolting clock that Haddock had been so excited about the day before, and there was a tantalizing gap between the clawed feet beneath, but it was the brass handle on the intricately inlayed doors that caught my attention. I reached out and opened one of the doors, and there inside was the missing trumpet case.

  I rushed into the dining room, almost bowling the inspector over in my haste.

  ‘Inspector,’ I blurted. ‘I’m so sorry. I–’

  ‘Calm down, young lady,’ he said, kindly. ‘What’s troubling you?’

  As succinctly as I could I told the story of my morning’s adventures.

  ‘Well bless my soul,’ he said. ‘I shall have to have words with the local uniformed boys. How on earth did they miss that? I’d been assured that everything had been thoroughly searched.’

  ‘It’s an anonymous little cupboard, sir,’ I said. ‘I only noticed it because it’s directly opposite the door. It’s in a little alcove so it’s easy to ignore it otherwise.’

  ‘That’s as may be, miss, but it’s a policeman’s duty to notice everything. No matter. What did you do with the trumpet case?’

  ‘I left it there. I was already feeling a little stupid for touching the door handle so I didn’t want to get my fingerprints on the case as well.’

  ‘Quick thinking,’ he said, encouragingly. ‘We’ll make a detective of you yet. Now then, would you mind waiting here in case your mistress turns up, and I’ll go and take a look at this trumpet case for myself.’

  ‘Of course, sir. Is that tea fresh?’

  ‘Dora brought it in a few moments ago,’ he said. ‘She seemed a little put out that you weren’t here as a matter of fact, looked like she had something on her mind. I told her you were running an errand for me.’

  ‘Thank you. I expect she wanted to gloat about being so thoroughly comforted by Mr Dunn.’

  He chuckled. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you help yourself to some tea and I’ll be back in a few moments.’

  And with that, he left the room.

  I poured myself a cup of tea and tried to sit quietly to wait for the inspector’s return or Lady Hardcastle’s arrival, but I couldn’t settle. I was too excited. I’d made an actual discovery. A real piece of detection. It was all far too thrilling to be sitting quietly drinking tea in someone else’s dining room.

  At length I heard voices in the corridor and as I rose to find out what was going on, the door opened and Lady Hardcastle came in.

  ‘Thank you, Jenkins,’ she said with her head still turned towards the corridor. ‘You’re a sweetheart. I don’t suppose you could magic up a pot of coffee? And perhaps some of Mrs Brown’s delicious biscuits?’

  There was a muffled, ‘Certainly, my lady,’ from the corridor and then the sound of Jenkins’s unhurried footsteps on the wooden floor.

  Lady Hardcastle closed the door.

  ‘Hello, pet,’ she said, putting her bag on the table. ‘No Inspector Sunderland? How did your snooping go?’

  Once more I described my search, and the unexpectedly easy discovery of the missing case.

  ‘Oh, I say, how exciting,’ she said.

  ‘I should say so. In the words of Sergeant Dobson I was “all of a pother”.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Actual detecting. Well done you. We have even more to tell the inspector when he turns up.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, my lady, I neglected to say that he’s already here. I told him about the case and he’s gone to look for himself.’

  ‘Splendid,’ she said, and sat down to await his return.

  We didn’t have to wait long. We’d only just begun to chatter excitedly, speculating on what the significance of the discovery might be, when the inspector came in, carrying the trumpet case.

  ‘Aha,’ he said. ‘Good morning, Lady Hardcastle. I trust you’re well.’

  ‘Splendidly well, than you, Inspector,’ she said. ‘And rather proud of dear Flo, too. What a find!’

  ‘Quite a breakthrough, my lady, yes. Well done, Miss Armstrong. This should help things along nicely.’

  ‘How exciting,’ I said. ‘But don’t we have to wait for… what did you call him? The “fingerprint man”?’

  ‘Ordinarily, miss, yes, but see the brass catch here?’ He indicated the locking clasp that held the case closed. ‘Bright and shiny. Not a mark on it, nor anywhere else on the case as far as I can see. The whole thing has been wiped clean. Work of an experienced thief, I’d say.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, disappointedly.

  He smiled. ‘Not to worry, though, miss, it’s still an important part of the puzzle. And who knows what we might find inside.’

  He made to open the case, but Lady Hardcastle laid a hand on his arm.

  ‘Before you do, Inspector, would you mind indulging us a little? Flo and I have a little theory about what might be inside and it will be so much more impressive if we tell you before you open it.’

  ‘By all means, my lady. I’m all ears.’

  ‘It relies,’ she said, ‘on our supposition that Sylvia Montgomery, the newcomer to the band, is actually a notorious jewel thief who is using the band as a cover to get herself into rich houses and steal from the families who live there. Rather than take the jewels out in her own luggage, she conceals them in her fellow musicians’ instrument cases without their knowledge. On the evening of the party, she was caught by Mr Holloway as she attempted to hide her spoils in his trumpet case. A struggle ensued and she left him unconscious on the floor as she fled.’

  The inspector smiled indulgently. ‘I see, my lady. I suppose your theory also has room for Mr Haddock?’

  ‘It does indeed, Inspector. He’s her fence.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, producing a telegram from his jacket pocket. ‘Either you have a source of your own inside Scotland Yard, or you’re a psychic. Take a look at this.’ He handed her the telegram.


  She read in silence for a few moments and then handed the telegram back to the inspector. ‘I say,’ was all she said.

  ‘Well?’ I said, impatiently. ‘What does it say?

  ‘It says, miss,’ said the inspector, ‘that Sylvia Montgomery is better known to Scotland Yard as Olive Sewell, a notorious sneak thief with a particular fondness for diamonds, and that Clifford Haddock, junk shop owner and oily tick, is currently under investigation for fencing stolen goods, most particularly a diamond necklace owned by the Countess of Teignmouth. The necklace in question was last seen before a party at which Roland Richman’s Ragtime Revue provided the musical entertainment and Superintendent Witham is even now on an express train to Bristol and asks that we detain our songbird until he can make his way to The Grange to ask her a few questions of his own.’

  ‘Gracious,’ I said.

  ‘Indeed,’ said the inspector. ‘How on earth did you two manage to find all that out before I did?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Now… well… you see…’

  ‘I think,’ I said, keen to help her out, ‘that Lady Hardcastle is trying to find a way of saying, “We just made it all up in a flight of fancy,” that makes it sound much less like two women indulging in brandy-fuelled whimsy, and more like the work of two keen detective brains hard at work.’

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘Though I think you might have let the cat out of the bag a little there.’

  The inspector laughed. ‘Well, you certainly came up with a version of the truth, however you did it, and there’s always room for imagination in the world of professional detection. And now we can test the other part of your theory. If you’re correct, we ought to find something interesting inside this case other than a bottle of valve oil and an old duster.’

  Almost ceremoniously, the inspector flipped open the two catches and slowly lifted the lid. The lining was of red velvet, slightly padded to protect the instrument in transit. There was a lidded compartment along the side nearest the handle and the inspector opened it by lifting a small leather tab. The compartment did indeed contain a small glass bottle of some oily substance and a rag, as well as the “stick thing” that Miss Montgomery had described. The inspector lifted these few items out and it was obvious that the red velvet base of the compartment was slightly askew. A false bottom. Inspector Sunderland pried it loose.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That’s terribly disappointing.’

  We peered closer. There was nothing there.

  ‘It looks as though there was something in there at some point, though,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That’s definitely a secret compartment.’

  ‘I can’t disagree, my lady,’ said the inspector. ‘But it opens up a few holes in your theory. Mr Holloway would most definitely have known about his hollow case, so if Miss Montgomery – Miss Sewell as I should say – was using his case to smuggle her swag, he would have been well aware. Which makes it rather unlikely that she and he would have struggled had he caught her hiding her stuff there.’

  ‘Harrumph,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘It was a most inspired thought, though,’ said the inspector. ‘And we still need to speak to Miss Sewell again now that we have a little more information about her.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said.

  ‘May I have a look at the case, Inspector,’ I said.

  ‘By all means,’ he said.

  I flipped down the cover of the storage compartment and closed the case, latching the lid shut. I picked it up and hefted it; it would make a passable weapon in a scuffle. The edges of the case were reinforced with leather, with a double layer on each corner. I imagined myself swinging the case to strike someone and pictured one of those corners making contact with his head. I looked closer at the corner farthest from me.

  ‘Look here, Inspector,’ I said. ‘Blood. I should say this is the murder weapon.’

  He looked where I indicated. ‘I should say you’re right, miss,’ he said. ‘Chalk up one more win for the amateurs. Even I’d missed that.’

  Lady Hardcastle beamed at me.

  ‘Well done, Flo,’ she said. ‘Does that make up for our foolish whimsy, Inspector?’

  ‘It more than makes up for it, my lady,’ he said. ‘And as I said before, there was truth in the fancy. We shall find out more when we get her in here again. But I’m afraid you shan’t be here, Miss Armstrong.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, disappointedly. ‘Shall I not?’

  ‘Indeed you shall not, miss. While Lady Hardcastle and I apply the thumbscrews in here – you did remember to bring the thumbscrews, my lady?’

  ‘Sadly no, Inspector. Thumbscrews and coshes are entirely Flo’s province.’

  ‘No matter, we shall improvise. But while we do that, Miss Armstrong, you shall be putting your newfound searching skills to good use in Miss Sewell’s room. I’m not at all sure that she has anything to do with the murder but I’ll be extremely surprised if she’s not up to something.’

  I brightened at once. ‘Oh, goodie,’ I said. ‘I shall turn the place over good and proper, guv, you see if I don’t.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ he said with another of his throaty chuckles.

  ‘My maid, the bloodhound,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘You flatter me, my lady,’ I said. ‘You couldn’t have given it a few moments’ more thought and come up with a more attractive dog?’

  ‘Pish and fiddlesticks,’ she said. ‘You know full well what I meant by it.’

  ‘Pfft,’ I said, eloquently.

  ‘I think I’d better ring for that Jenkins character to go and find Miss Sewell,’ said the inspector, but as he reached for the bell, there was a knock at the door and Jenkins appeared with the coffee.

  ‘My dear Jenkins,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What a propitious arrival. Set the coffee down over there, if you please, and then might I ask another favour of you?’

  ‘Of course, my lady,’ he said. ‘Whatever you need.’

  ‘Would you dispatch one of your minions to Miss Montgomery’s room, please. Present our compliments and ask if she would be good enough to join the inspector and me in the dining room.’

  ‘Certainly, my lady. I shall send Dora, if that suits; a run up and down stairs might do her some good. She’s being insufferably cheeky and mischievous this morning, I don’t know what’s got into her.

  There was the briefest of pauses while Lady Hardcastle stifled her giggle and composed herself before she said, ‘That will be splendid, Jenkins, thank you so much.’

  He bowed respectfully, showing no sign of being discomfited by the smirks his innocent comment had provoked, and left the room.

  ‘You’d better get going, pet,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Lurk somewhere for a few minutes to give them time to get down here, and then slip up to the attic rooms and do your snooping.’

  I left the dining room and headed for the library, reasoning that there would be no one there, and waited for my chance to be a proper detective once more.

  I hid out in the library for what I considered an appropriate length of time which I passed by leafing through a few of Sir Hector’s books. He had an impressive collection, comprising everything from history and biography, to poetry, plays and quite a few novels, including some published surprisingly recently.

  But I couldn’t linger, no matter how interesting the reading matter, though I did make a mental note to ask Lady Hardcastle to ask Sir Hector if I might be able to read some of them at a more convenient time.

  I managed to get all the way to the top of the servants’ staircase without meeting anyone, but that wasn’t really a surprise at that time of day. During the working day, all the servants would be hard at work (surreptitious comforting notwithstanding) but the musicians were self proclaimed late risers and might still be in their rooms.

  There was a brass cardholder on each doorframe, holding a small white card bearing the occupants’ names written in a scrupulously neat hand. The rooms nearest the stairs b
elonged to the household servants so I kept going down the passageway to the smaller rooms at the end. Roland Richman had his own room, as had the late Mr Holloway. Skins and Dunn shared a room which meant that the last one must be Miss Sewell’s.

  I opened the door and entered quickly, not wanting to linger outside lest I be spotted. I closed the door.

  There was a bed – slept in and unmade; a washstand – jug empty, bowl full, face towel scrunched up on the floor; and a small wardrobe – door open, clothes strewn on the floor. Miss Sewell had the voice of an angel, but she lived like a pig.

  I stood with my back to the door, trying my imagining trick again. I’d stolen something from the house. I had just a few moments to stash it and get back to the party before I was missed.

  I looked around. There were stockings on the floor, a dress over the back of the chair. A suitcase stood open in the corner. Time was running out, what was I going to do with this stuff? My eyes fell on the makeup case standing on a small chair near the looking glass hanging on the wall. It was the only thing in the room that was in any way tidy and ordered.

  I opened the case and lifted out the top tray of neatly arranged powders, lipsticks and creams. The compartment at the bottom was slightly less well ordered, but it contained a few items of interest: a pair of diamond earrings which I’d seen Lady Farley-Stroud wearing a few weeks earlier, a double string of pearls, and, at the very bottom, a beautiful diamond pendant which matched the earrings perfectly. I replaced the top tray, closed the case, and took it with me as I left the room and returned to the dining room.

  When I returned to the dining room, the interview was in full flow.

  ‘…and I’m telling you that I’ve never heard of this Olive Sewell character.’

  ‘A case of mistaken identity, then, miss?’

  ‘I should say so, yes.’

  ‘I see,’ said the inspector, acknowledging my arrival with a nod. ‘Perhaps Miss Armstrong has found something that might shed a little light on the matter.’ He noticed what was in my hands. ‘Another sort of “case” entirely, it seems. Is this yours, Miss Montgomery?’