Death Around the Bend (A Lady Hardcastle Mystery Book 3)

by T E Kinsey

  Harry was next to arrive, with Lord Riddlethorpe and Herr Kovacs running up shortly afterwards from the opposite direction.

  ‘Is he . . . ?’ said Lord Riddlethorpe, trying to get closer.

  ‘I’m afraid so, my lord,’ said Morgan, standing up from where he had been examining the body. ‘Seems he lost control on the bend and slewed off the track. I’d say he hit his head when the motor smashed into the tree. Died instantly, I’d reckon.’

  ‘Why would he lose control like that?’ asked Harry, all traces of his earlier excitement and enthusiasm gone. ‘The man was a professional.’

  ‘He’d have had to be going at a good old lick coming into the bend to spin this far off the track,’ said Morgan thoughtfully.

  ‘A fault with the car?’ suggested Herr Kovacs. ‘It was your prototype, after all, Edmond. Perhaps your engineers have made mistakes.’

  Lord Riddlethorpe was too shocked to speak.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do for Dawkins now,’ said Lady Hardcastle in a calm, businesslike tone. ‘Harry, take the ladies back to the house and call the police – they’ll need to be notified of the death. Fishy, you’ll need to contact Dawkins’s family.’

  ‘I’m not sure he had any family,’ said Lord Riddlethorpe absently. ‘I remember him telling me his parents were dead. I think there might be a sister in Bournemouth, but I’ve no idea how we’d reach her.’

  ‘Herr Kovacs—’ she began.

  ‘Viktor, please,’ he said with a bow.

  ‘Thank you. Viktor, would you look after Fishy, please? I don’t think he’s coping well with the shock.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and gently led his friend away.

  ‘Will you be all right, sis?’ said Harry, hesitating slightly before setting off.

  ‘Of course I shall, silly,’ she said. ‘Now go and be manly and masterful – I think the others might need some reassurance.’

  ‘Right you are,’ he said, and went back to lead the rest of the party home.

  ‘We’re goin’ to need to take a good look at this motor car,’ said Morgan, walking round it, examining it carefully. ‘I just can’t see how someone like Dawkins could lose control like that. Now Mr Featherstonhaugh – no offence, my lady – him I could imagine overdoin’ it a bit on the approach and skiddin’ off, but even he’d not make this much of a mess of it. It’s got to be somethin’ wrong with the motor. He came in much too fast.’

  ‘I’m not sure what the protocol is with motor accidents on private land,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘but I think we probably ought to leave everything as it is until the police and their surgeon have had a look. But then I think you should get the motor car back to your workshop and give it a thorough going over. One way or another, Lord Riddlethorpe will want to know how this happened – he’s very shaken up.’

  ‘Right you are, my lady,’ Morgan said, and we stood to await the arrival of the authorities.

  Chapter Six

  ‘. . . a tragic accident. The coroner will have the final say, of course, and we’ll have to take the body to the mortuary in Leicester until he releases it, but I don’t think there’s anything else for us to do here.’

  The speaker was a rumpled police inspector from Leicester who had arrived to take over from the local constable when word reached HQ that a death had occurred at the home of the Earl of Riddlethorpe. He had introduced himself to Lord Riddlethorpe as Inspector Foister in a tone of obsequious respect that had evaporated the instant he spoke to any of the rest of the party. He had slightly increased the level of toadying when addressing Lady Lavinia – she was the earl’s sister, after all – and Lady Hardcastle – a title’s a title, even if one is only a knight’s widow – but the rest of us were treated with an off-hand superciliousness that was beginning rather to get on my nerves by the time he was ready to leave.

  He clearly thought that a gang of moneyed fools mucking about in high-powered motor cars was a recipe for disaster. We had got far less than we deserved, and I suspected it was only the fact that Lord Riddlethorpe was involved that stopped him from telling us all so. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but it meant that Sergeant Tarpley, the local bobby, seemed to have taken the inspector’s behaviour as leave to display the same dismissive attitude. He was still as polite and deferential to Lord Riddlethorpe as he had been when he arrived, but he seemed now to think that he was at liberty to dismiss the incident as yet further idiocy from the ‘young’ earl.

  The earl himself was still in shock, and had said very little. When it became obvious that the inspector was wrapping things up and readying himself to leave, it was Lady Hardcastle who took over.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Inspector,’ she said, gesturing towards the library door. ‘I’m sure you’ll let his lordship know if there’s anything else that needs to be done?’

  ‘Of course, my lady,’ he said, bristling slightly at the feeling he was being dismissed.

  She led him across the room and opened the door to find the young footman lurking outside. ‘Evan will see you out,’ she said. She turned round to address Sergeant Tarpley. ‘Perhaps the inspector will give you a lift into Riddlethorpe,’ she said.

  ‘No need, m’lady,’ said the sergeant self-importantly. ‘I come on me bike.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ she said with a smile. ‘It really has been most generous of you both to give us your time and your professional reassurance.’

  There was no doubt in either of their minds now that they had been given their marching orders. The inspector’s eyes flicked towards Lord Riddlethorpe before saying a curt ‘Good day to you’, and marching off after Evan. In other company, I suspect we’d have got a ‘Now look here’ or an ‘I shall decide when it’s time for me to leave’, but his snobbery got the better of him, and he decided that starting a row in the earl’s house was bad form. Sergeant Tarpley trotted obediently in their wake, and we were left once more to ourselves.

  The atmosphere was understandably subdued, and once again Lady Hardcastle took charge.

  ‘Right,’ she said briskly. ‘At times like these, the proper English response is to have a nice cup of tea. Armstrong, dear, please pop down to the kitchens and see what you can scare up. Morgan, I think we need to retrieve the crashed motor car and bring it back to the coach house – it would put his lordship’s mind at ease to know whether there was anything wrong with the machine. Press-gang any staff you need to assist you.’

  ‘Who the devil put you in charge?’ said Mrs Beddows coldly. ‘Fishy should be ordering the servants about. Or Jake. Certainly not you.’

  ‘Lady Lavinia?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘What?’ said Lady Lavinia absently. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, that will all be fine. Carry on, Morgan.’

  Lady Hardcastle smiled, Mrs Beddows glowered, and Morgan and I beat a hasty retreat.

  News of the day’s events had already reached the servants’ hall and we were all but mobbed as we entered. Mr Spinney sternly called for order, and the hubbub died down, but it was clear that we weren’t going to get out without sharing our side of the story.

  As succinctly and as unsensationally as we could, we took turns to describe the events leading up to the crash. By the time we’d finished, the large, ordinarily cheerful room had fallen silent. One of the junior maids piped up. ‘My ma always said nothin’ good would come of them motor cars.’

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  ‘Dangerous contraptions,’ said another. ‘His lordship should be ashamed of himself, riskin’ his friend’s life like that.’

  ‘That’s quite enough of that,’ said Mrs McLelland severely. ‘We’ll hear no more of that sort of talk, thank you very much, girls. Get back to your work now.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Mr Spinney. ‘Get back to work, all of you. His lordship still has guests, and we must be as quietly efficient as ever. More so, in fact.’

  Muttering, the staff dispersed and went about their business.

  While I organized a tea tray and one of the
junior footmen to deliver it, Morgan had a quiet word with Mr Spinney. He left a few moments later, accompanied by the groom and the boot boy. I kept out of the way while Mrs Ruddle supervised the preparation of the tea and the provision of cake, and then I, too, left the staff to their labours and went back upstairs with the footman.

  He set the tray down on a table in the library, and I poured cups for everyone. I joined Lady Hardcastle, who had separated herself from the ladies and was standing by one of the tall windows, looking out on to the grounds.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she took the proffered cuppa.

  ‘My pleasure,’ I said. ‘How is everyone?’

  ‘A little distressed by events, I feel, but they’ll rally. One does, doesn’t one?’

  ‘I suppose so, my lady.’

  ‘Fishy and Monty are taking it badly, of course. They’ve been over there, deep in muttered conversation, since you left. They’re blaming themselves, but they would, wouldn’t they? Herr Kovacs attempted to intervene, but they shooed him away. He tried talking to the girls, but they gave him short shrift, too – that’s why he’s sitting on his own over there.’

  I looked around as she spoke, and saw Lord Riddlethorpe and Mr Waterford sitting in armchairs on either side of a low table. They had some papers spread out upon it and were leaning in, their heads almost touching, gesturing animatedly. Meanwhile, Lady Lavinia, Mrs Beddows, and Miss Titmus were sitting gloomily around another small table, while Harry tried gamely to keep the conversation flowing. It looked to be no easy task, with Lady Lavinia fidgeting, seemingly unable to settle comfortably, and Miss Titmus fiddling with her ever-present camera. Mrs Beddows was sipping her tea and looked thoroughly bored. Herr Kovacs sat in the corner of the room furthest from the other two groups. He didn’t seem unduly put out at being pushed away. Indeed, he appeared to be enjoyably engrossed in an old book.

  ‘Did Morgan get his assistants?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Yes, my lady. He collared a couple of the younger lads and they set off to get the motor.’

  ‘Splendid. I’d like you to take a stroll out to the stables, if you wouldn’t mind. It shouldn’t take young Morgan long to get the motor back to the workshop, and I’d really rather like to know what he finds out.’

  ‘You suspect something, my lady?’

  ‘Call it the healthy curiosity of an enquiring mind,’ she said.

  ‘“The nosiness of an interfering old busybody”. Right you are, my lady.’

  She raised her hand to aim a threatening flick at my ear, and I left before we were accused of a lack of decorum.

  I slipped quietly out of the library and back downstairs, where, by the ancient and reliable trick of appearing to be fearfully busy, I managed to pass through the servants’ hall and out the side door without being waylaid. Patience was in the kitchen garden harvesting herbs for Mrs Ruddle, and we exchanged cheery greetings as I passed, but the old ‘striding purposefully’ trick worked its magic and she didn’t detain me.

  A few minutes later, I arrived in the yard, where I saw Morgan and his helpers wheeling the dented green motor car into the former coach house. He dismissed the two lads, and they ambled past me, as slowly as they thought they could get away with, on their way back to the servants’ hall.

  ‘It doesn’t look too badly damaged,’ I said by way of alerting him to my presence.

  He turned sharply at the sound of my voice, but relaxed when he saw it was me.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘not too bad at all. She’m a bit banged up, but we can knock out them dents. Probably could have driven her back down here, to be honest.’

  ‘Do you need any help?’ I asked.

  ‘I never say no to an offer of help,’ he said, unclipping the bonnet latches. ‘And even just some company would make a change. People mostly doesn’t have time to loiter round the workshops. I don’t mind bein’ on me own, but a chat’s always welcome. Can you hold this a minute?’

  I reached across the bonnet of the car from the other side and held the half that he had just raised while he fiddled with the supporting brace.

  ‘You can let go now,’ he said. The bonnet stayed up on its own.

  ‘Do you have any idea what you might be looking for?’ I asked, rounding the front of the motor to peer into the mysterious mechanicals.

  ‘Sommat as might have caused the accident, you mean?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, continuing my journey round the motor.

  ‘Could be anythin’,’ he said. ‘Throttle cable might have jammed, brakes might have failed . . .’

  ‘Does that sort of thing happen often?’

  ‘More often than you might hope. Wonderful things, motor cars, but they ain’t ’alf complicated. Hundreds of moving parts all workin’ in harmony – it only takes one little blighter to start singin’ out of tune and it all goes to pot.’

  ‘I really ought to learn more about how these machines work if we’re to properly enjoy our little Rover,’ I said.

  ‘’Tain’t all that difficult to understand, really,’ he said, looking up from under the bonnet. ‘Take the brakes, for instance. You press down on the pedal here.’ He indicated the foot brake.

  ‘That part I knew,’ I said. ‘And then the motor just sort of stops. By magic, presumably.’

  He laughed. ‘Not magic so much as mechanics. You push the pedal and it pulls this lever, and then that pulls these cables, and they pull these levers, and then they squeeze two metal shoes lined with grippy stuff against the inside of these drums . . .’ His voice trailed away to nothing.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, trying to follow his gaze.

  ‘See this cable here?’ He indicated the end of the wire where it emerged from its housing by the brake drum on the right-hand side of the vehicle. ‘He’s supposed to be connected to this lever here.’ He reached over and tapped the connector for the threaded rod, from which a short length of wire protruded. ‘Dawkins only had one brake goin’ into that bend; no wonder he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t have noticed at low speed, but if he was drivin’ it ’ard like, he’d not have got anythin’ like the brakin’ he was expectin’. Would have been lopsided, too. Ain’t no wonder he crashed, poor beggar.’

  ‘It broke?’ I suggested.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘See the way the ends of the wire are crushed? Someone cut it.’

  I stayed with Morgan while he checked the rest of the motor car. He found no other faults, and we returned to the house through the now-empty kitchen garden. After washing his hands in the gardeners’ sink by the door, he gestured me to follow him, and we set off upstairs to the library.

  He knocked on the door and entered. As he made his way briskly across to where Lord Riddlethorpe was sitting, I went to the window seat, where Lady Hardcastle had made herself comfortable with a book.

  She put the book down as I approached, and I noticed that she was re-reading The Woman in White.

  ‘What ho, Flo,’ she said. ‘What news from the workshop?’

  ‘Not good, my lady,’ I said, sitting down next to her. ‘It looks awfully like sabotage.’

  ‘Gracious,’ she said. ‘How certain are you?’

  ‘Morgan gave the motor car a thorough going-over and everything was in full working order, except that one of the brake cables had been snipped through.’

  ‘Well I never. “One of . . .”, you say?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, just one side. Left the other one intact.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘I suppose he’s telling Fishy?’

  ‘He is, my lady.’

  ‘It won’t make him feel any better, I don’t suppose. He’s been busy blaming himself, but blaming someone else won’t necessarily help.’

  As she spoke, Lord Riddlethorpe and Mr Waterford rose from their armchairs and followed Morgan out, presumably to inspect the damage for themselves. Harry took note of the comings and goings and excused himself from his losing conversational battle. He came over to join his sister and me.

  ‘News?’
he said.

  ‘Someone sabotaged the brakes,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Good lord,’ he said. ‘So someone killed poor old Dawkins. Why?’

  ‘Why, indeed?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Quite cunningly done, too.’

  He looked at me quizzically.

  ‘Whoever it was only disabled the brake on one side,’ I said. ‘The way Morgan explained it to me, it wouldn’t have made much difference to anyone driving at normal speeds – bringing the motor car up to the track, for instance. But once a driver like Ellis Dawkins was at the wheel, taking the motor to its limits as he tried to see what it could do, only having half the brakes he thought he did could lead to disaster.’

  ‘As it did,’ said Harry thoughtfully. ‘As it so very did.’

  ‘Does he know when it happened?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘It could have been any time from yesterday afternoon, when he checked all three motor cars for the party, and this morning, when he took them all up to the starting line. They were in the coach house, but they weren’t locked up, and the house was full of guests until one this morning.’

  ‘So it could have been anyone,’ she said.

  ‘Anyone who knew enough about motor cars to know how to cut the brakes,’ said Harry.

  ‘Well, quite,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That must narrow the field quite a bit.’

  ‘You’d think so, my lady,’ I said. ‘But once you’ve taken a good look at the working parts of a motor car, it’s not terribly difficult to work out how to cause them mischief.’

  ‘Well, I certainly couldn’t do it,’ said Harry.

  ‘You have trouble understanding how to fill a fountain pen, darling,’ she said. ‘But you’re a special class of mechanical duffer. You always were.’ She patted his arm affectionately. ‘But apart from you, any number of people could have worked out how to sabotage the brakes. In my imagination, they’re not wholly unlike the brakes on a bicycle, and anyone could do it. In fact, didn’t I once do that to your bike, Harry?’