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

by T E Kinsey

  ‘Good show!’ she said and took the telegram from him.

  ‘Will there be a reply, my lady?’

  She read the message, which seemed rather a long one, and a minute passed before she said, ‘No, Jenkins, there’s no reply. This is everything I needed.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s coming up to teatime, Jenkins. What are the arrangements today?’

  ‘We were planning to serve it on the terrace again, my lady. Shall you be joining us?’

  ‘Today, Jenkins, we all shall. But would you mind delaying it for a short while?’

  ‘That would be a matter for Sir Hector, my lady. He’s rather particular about serving tea promptly at four o’clock.’

  ‘No matter, then. But perhaps you could make discreet efforts to ensure that all the house guests are present and that no one leaves before I arrive. Would that be acceptable?’

  ‘I shall do my utmost, my lady.’

  ‘Thank you. And do you by any chance know where Miss Clarissa is?’

  ‘I believe she’s in her room, my lady. Grace, her lady’s maid, has just gone up to her.’

  ‘Splendid, splendid,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Jenkins, your help is greatly appreciated, as always.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady. Will that be all?’

  ‘More than enough, thank you.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said with a bow, and left.

  ‘What’s in the telegram, my lady?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘All will be revealed in the fullness of time, Inspector,’ she said. ‘I need to confirm one or two things with Clarissa Farley-Stroud, and then I believe you shall have your man.’

  ‘Well I have nothing of my own,’ he said. ‘So I suppose I should allow you this one indulgence.’

  ‘I promise you won’t be disappointed, Inspector,’ she said as she made her way to the door. ‘But if you are, I promise to be properly contrite and to eat as much humble pie as possible.’

  She swept out of the room, leaving the inspector and me equally bemused and bewildered.

  ‘What do you think she’s up to?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘Blowed if I know,’ I said. ‘She’s a woman driven by whim and caprice, but usually also by perspicacity and insight, so I generally tend to let her get on with it.’

  ‘All in all, miss, I’d say from my brief experience of her that that’s probably wise. Have you worked for her long?’

  ‘About fourteen years now,’ I said.

  ‘And is it a life that suits you?’

  ‘Very much so, Inspector, yes.’

  ‘My sister is in service,’ he said. ‘But I’m not sure if I could do it. I like being my own man.’

  ‘Sadly, I’m not in a position to be my own “man”,’ I said. ‘But you still have to answer to your superiors, you still have to do someone else’s bidding from day to day.’

  ‘True enough, miss. But I do have a certain amount of freedom to conduct myself as I please in the execution of my duties. A certain amount of autonomy, you might say.’

  ‘As do I, Inspector. More, perhaps, than most servants. Ours is a… I hesitate to say “unique” working relationship, but it ’s certainly unusual. We have shared adventures over the years which most could scarcely imagine. It broke down some of the traditional barriers between an employer and a servant.’

  ‘I’ve noticed the way you speak to each other,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘It’s rather refreshing, to tell the truth.’

  ‘It causes quite a few raised eyebrows and more than a little disapproving tutting, but we carry on regardless.’

  ‘Well, you seem happy in your work and there’s not many as can say that in this day and age,’ he said. ‘When this case is wrapped up – and I’m rather coming round to the idea that your mistress might well wrap it up this afternoon – I should like to treat you both to a drink or two and hear the stories of your adventures.’

  ‘That would be delightful, Inspector, thank you. Perhaps Mrs Sunderland would like to come, too?’

  ‘Actually, miss, I rather think she would. I think she’d like you.’

  ‘Then I shall put you in the mistress’s appointments book and we shall sup together as friends one evening before the weather turns.’

  ‘I shall look forward to it.’

  I was about to ask the inspector about his own family, but there was another knock at the door and Dewi the footman came in.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but there was a telephone call for you,’ he said. ‘Gentleman couldn’t stay on the line so he asked me to say…’ He screwed up his face in concentration, trying to remember the exact words. ‘Tell the inspector that Superintention Wickham has been delayed at Swindon by a fallen tree on the line and has had to return to London. Hold Sewell locally until someone from the Met can pick her up.’

  ‘Thank you… Doughy, is it?’ said the inspector.

  ‘Close enough, sir,’ said the young man, followed by some rather harsh words in his native Welsh.

  ‘Watch your tongue, lad,’ I said in the same language. ‘You never know who might be listening.’

  He blushed crimson. ‘Sorry, miss.’

  The inspector looked puzzled and said. ‘Right, well, can you please find Sergeant Dobson and ask him to bring Miss Montgomery to me.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Right away, sir.’

  He hurried out.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘He cast doubt on your parentage, suggested what he imagined your mother did for a living, and then expressed his contempt for the English in general.’

  ‘The cheeky little beggar,’ he said, slightly hurt. ‘My mother was a schoolteacher.’

  ‘It’s just his little act of rebellion, inspector. Like a safety valve on a steam engine.’

  ‘I understand that, miss. But, I mean. Really.’

  A few minutes later there was yet another knock at the door and a very flustered Sergeant Dobson peered in.

  ‘Ah, Dobson, good man,’ said the inspector. ‘There’s been a slight change of plan and I’m going to need you to take Miss Montgomery to the police station after all. But I suppose you might as well both come out onto the terrace for Lady Hardcastle’s announcement before you go. We’ll see if we can snag you some sandwiches.’

  ‘Ah, now, see, I’ve got some bad news on that score, sir.’

  ‘What sort of bad news?’

  ‘It’s the lady, sir. She’s… ah… she’s done a bunk, sir.’

  ‘Oh for the love of–’

  ‘I’m most dreadfully sorry, sir.’

  ‘How, sergeant?’

  ‘Well, Sir Hector let us use his upstairs study, sir. It’s out of the way, like. So we was up there and she starts fidgeting with her… with her underthings, and she says, “Sorry, sergeant, but my corsets seem to have got a bit twisted. Would you mind popping outside while I straighten myself out. Just for a minute, there’s a love.” So I did. I went out and sat on a chair on the landing, like.’

  ‘How long did you leave her?’

  ‘She was ages, sir. A good few minutes.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to check what she was up to?’

  ‘Well, no, sir. Not at first. She was… you know… she was… rearranging herself.’

  The inspector sighed.

  ‘But after a few minutes I did knock on the door, but there was no answer,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘And when you went in, she’d gone.’

  ‘She had, sir. Out the window.’

  ‘But you took her shoes?’

  ‘Well, no, sir, didn’t seem much point. We was up on the first floor. Where was she going to go?’

  ‘Out the window and down the blessed drainpipe,’ said the inspector with no small amount of exasperation.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the sergeant, sheepishly.

  ‘Did you look for her?’

  ‘I had a run round the house, sir, but she’d vanished.’

  The inspector sighed again. ‘Oh well, she’ll not ge
t far on foot. Get word out, sergeant, and we’ll see if we can pick her up before she manages to catch a train.’

  ‘Right you are, sir. Sorry, sir.’ He hurried out.

  ‘I despair,’ said the inspector, but unfortunately I was laughing so I couldn’t commiserate. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘We’re laughing now, are we?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Inspector. You’ve got to admit it’s rather funny. And poor old Dobson. He wants so much to get things right. He offered to take her to the cells and we knew she was a slippery customer.’

  ‘So it’s my fault?’

  ‘Well, if the shoe fits…’

  ‘Don’t mention the shoes,’ he said. ‘If he’d taken her blasted shoes, she’d still be sitting up there in her wonky stays.’

  I laughed again.

  ‘I suppose we ought to get out onto the terrace,’ he said. ‘At least Superintendent Witham won’t be here to take the rise out of me in person.’

  ‘Come on, then, Inspector, take me to tea.’

  There was already quite a gathering on the terrace when the inspector and I arrived. Dunn and Skins were sitting together, with Dora hovering around trying to look like she was supposed to be there, but obviously trying to flirt with Dunn. Richman and Haddock were together, deep in whispered conversation. Verma was sitting with Summers and trying to look interested as the empty-headed captain finished off some dreary tale of life in the Raj. Theo Woodfield, Clarissa’s affianced, was hovering near the low wall, looking down into the valley. Sir Hector and Lady Farley-Stroud were in what I presumed to be their usual places at the head of the table, both looking rather subdued and anxious.

  The inspector and I stood with our backs to the house, where we could watch them all.

  Jenkins was fussing with the tea things on the large table and had just signalled to Dora that they should withdraw when Lady Hardcastle arrived with Clarissa, and Verma’s servant.

  Richman was halfway out of his chair in fright when he saw the Man Mountain, but the inspector signalled that he should stay where he was. He sat down, but his eyes never left the imposing figure of the Nepalese servant as he made his way round the table to his master’s side.

  When the murmuring had died down a little, Lady Hardastle spoke. ‘I expect you’re wondering,’ she said with evident glee, ‘why I’ve asked you all here.’

  I couldn’t resist a grin of my own at the detective story theatricality of it, but no one else seemed impressed or amused.

  ‘Oh, please yourselves,’ she said. ‘Now we’re all aware of the terrible events of the night of the party. Or their consequences, at least. But until just now, only one among us knew exactly what happened to Mr Holloway.’

  I watched the assembled group for any sign of a reaction, and I could see that the inspector was doing the same. To my disappointment, no one betrayed anything other than curiosity.

  ‘Armstrong and I have spent the past two days in the company of Inspector Sunderland as he questioned most of you, trying to establish just exactly what happened on that fateful night. Until a few moments ago we had all the pieces of the puzzle, but no key to fit them together. With so few clocks, no one could remember when anything happened, and no single person seemed to have a clear idea of all the comings and goings. But then it struck me that the one person we hadn’t yet spoken to may well have been paying a great deal more attention to who was at her party and where they were during the evening, and so I spoke to Miss Clarissa. It seems that she does indeed have a very clear recollection of the events of the evening.

  Lady Hardcastle continued, ‘She’s a–’

  We didn’t find out what she was, though, because at that moment, with much huffing, puffing, and the inevitable Welsh swearing, Bert and Dewi struggled onto the terrace with Lady Hardcastle’s Crime Board. At her instruction, they turned the board round on the easel to reveal the blank reverse. With their task complete, they should probably have returned to their other work, but instead they hung about, hoping to hear what was going on. No one said anything, so they joined Dora at the far side of the table.

  Lady Hardcastle began sketching a plan of the ground floor of The Grange on the blackboard. When she was done, she pinned a piece of paper in the top corner of the board and turned to face the assembled residents and guests.

  ‘There we are,’ she said. ‘That’s the ground floor of the house, and that piece of paper was recovered from the stage. It’s a running order, or “set list” as I believe the musicians call it.’

  The musicians sat up a little straighter and nodded their agreement as all eyes turned towards them.

  ‘Now Miss Clarissa doesn’t wear a wristwatch, she thinks them rather vulgar,’ said Lady Hardcastle, looking at her own watch. ‘But she has a marvellous memory for tunes, and so we’ve managed to piece the events together using the songs to mark the passing of time.’

  There were murmurs of appreciation, but still no signs of fear nor of a guilty conscience.

  Lady Hardcastle continued. ‘Now, the early part of the evening proceeded much as it might at any other party. People arrived, drinks were served, guests mingled, circulated, chatted, and congratulated the happy couple. And the band played. They were all on stage together until they reached this song,’ she said, tapping the set list. ‘This is “Standing Room Only” and is an instrumental number which meant that Sylvia Montgomery wasn’t required. She left the stage and, by her own testimony, went off to the library,’ she drew a little circle in the library with the letters SM in it. ‘Where is Miss Montgomery, by the way?’ she said.

  ‘She went for a little walk, my lady,’ said Inspector Sunderland. ‘I’ll explain later.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Ah well, no matter. Miss Montgomery spent a few minutes in the library and then left, whereupon she met Miss Armstrong, my maid, in the corridor.’

  I nodded.

  ‘They parted company and Miss Montgomery returned to the ballroom.’ She rubbed out the SM circle in the library and redrew it in the ballroom. ‘Armstrong continued with her errand in the servants’ section of the house, and when she returned, she thought she caught a glimpse of someone else going into the library, but she couldn’t be certain and had no idea who it might have been, even if there had been someone there. And that’s significant because during the next song…’ She tapped the set list again. ‘…“The Richman Rag”, Miss Clarissa had noticed one of the guests leave the ballroom.’

  There was another murmur from the assembled guests.

  ‘No one knows for sure where this person went, but if they had walked in the direction of the library, they might well been the person that Armstrong saw going into the library through the door nearest the hall.’

  ‘Who is this person?’ asked Mr Verma.

  ‘We shall come to that in good time, Mr Verma,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘When “The Richman Rag” ends, the band take their well-earned break, and Nelson Holloway goes off to the library, ostensibly to retrieve a bottle of scotch that he had hidden among his things, but actually to check that the secret contents of his trumpet case were still safe and sound.’

  ‘And what were these “secret contents”?’ said Verma.

  ‘I think you know, Mr Verma, but let me explain for the few people here who might not. Mr Verma is an emissary of the King of Nepal and he has been sent to England in pursuit of a precious gemstone known as The Emerald Eye. The Eye was stolen from a temple north of Kathmandu a number of years ago, and it recently arrived in Europe. A ragtime bandleader was paid to smuggle it into England, which task he accomplished with the help of his trumpeter who concealed the gem in a secret compartment in his trumpet case.’

  By now, all eyes had turned to Roland Richman who simply stared at the ground, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

  ‘Mr Richman had arranged to meet another accomplice here at The Grange to hand over the gem, and so during the break in the band’s performance, Mr Clifford Haddock left the ballroom, followed a short while later by Mr Richman. Had
dock went straight to the bathroom, believing he had time before the planned rendezvous, but he was delayed there, so that Mr Richman, who was waiting for him outside the library, thought that something had gone wrong and abandoned the meeting.’

  She drew a series of lines on the plan, indicating Haddock going upstairs in search of the bathroom, Richman waiting outside the library, Richman returning to the ballroom and Haddock coming back downstairs.

  ‘At this point,’ she continued, ‘Mr Haddock, seeing Richman’s absence, decided to check whether he had gone into the library. He went in, just as the missing guest came out through the other door.’

  She drew a new line showing the missing guest leaving the room.

  ‘What Haddock saw in the library shocked him. The instrument cases stored there by the band had been ransacked and there were signs of a struggle. He left the library and then he, too, returned to the ballroom where his arrival was, again, noticed by Miss Clarissa during the first song of the second set, “An Angel Fell”. The band was without Mr Holloway at this point but while some people noticed a slight change in the sound, few noticed the absence of the trumpeter.

  ‘Now, the reason for the chaos in the library was that the missing guest had been searching for the Eye. He was caught in the act by Mr Holloway, and in the ensuing struggle, Mr Holloway sustained his mortal head wound. As the missing guest left, he concealed Holloway’s trumpet case – the only case he hadn’t managed to search – in the Chinese cabinet in the corridor. He hid for a while until the coast was clear, then returned to the ballroom just as the band struck up the next number, “My Heart Belongs to You”.’

  ‘But who was this person?’ demanded Mr Verma again.

  ‘All in good time, Mr Verma,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘All in good time. Some time between hiding the trumpet case and its discovery two days later by Armstrong, Mr Holloway’s assailant retrieved the Emerald Eye from the trumpet case, wiped the case clean of his fingerprints and concealed the Eye in his own case which was safely stored in his room.’

  ‘And how the devil do you know that,’ said Verma, clearly now rather agitated.

  ‘Because when Miss Clarissa and I searched Captain Summers’s room just now,’ she said, producing an extraordinarily large emerald from her jacket pocket. ‘we found the Eye wrapped in a sock and tucked into one of his dress shoes at the bottom of his suitcase.’