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

by T E Kinsey

  ‘You did,’ he said with a smile. ‘Crashed into the fish pond.’

  ‘I remember it well,’ she said. ‘So we’re back to everyone at the party, and everyone in the house.’

  ‘Except Mr Featherston-huff,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, patting his arm again. ‘Everyone except Harry.’

  ‘I never thought I’d be so glad to be a bit of a duffer,’ he said.

  ‘You have other strengths, sir,’ I said.

  ‘Of course you do, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  He looked at us expectantly.

  ‘Give us a moment,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we’ll think of something.’

  He harrumphed. ‘I’m going to join the real ladies,’ he said, and wandered back to his seat.

  Lady Hardcastle hopped up from the window seat. ‘Come, servant,’ she said. ‘We need to do some serious pondering, and I’d rather not be overheard.’

  I followed her out of the library and up the stairs to her room.

  ‘Eyes and ears, Flo,’ said Lady Hardcastle as I shut the bedroom door behind us. ‘You need to be my eyes and ears.’

  ‘Of course, my lady,’ I said. ‘Always ready for that sort of thing, you know me.’

  ‘I do, I do. The thing is, though . . .’ She paused. ‘The thing is, I’m going to have to impose a little. I know we’re treating this as a break, and under any other circumstances I’d hate to have to ask . . .’

  ‘But you’d like me to get friendly with the servants and perhaps pitch in with a little work?’

  ‘In a nutshell. Do you mind awfully? It would be an absolute boon to have another pair of ears hovering about at mealtimes, for instance. And there’s always juicy gossip around the servants’ hall in places like this.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind at all, my lady. To tell the truth, I’ve had about as much of a break as I can stand – a mission would liven things up nicely.’

  ‘Do you think you can swing it without arousing too much suspicion?’

  ‘I’m sure people will be suspicious, my lady. Your reputation as a snooper precedes you, and for some reason I seem to have been tarred with the same brush. I’m not convinced that anyone in the household – family, staff, or guests – would expect you not to show at least some curiosity in a case like this, but . . . Well, the thing is, we return to the reason you recruited me into your shady underworld in the first place: servants are invisible. There’ll be a ripple of curiosity and suspicion at first, I don’t doubt, but it won’t take long before I’m just part of the furniture again.’

  ‘You’re never that, dear, but you do have an undeniable knack for blending in. How shall you approach the matter? Would you like me to have a discreet word with Fishy?’

  ‘I don’t think so, my lady. I think telling Mr Spinney part of the truth – that I’m more than a little bored and would welcome having something to do – would be more than enough to clinch the deal. Staff are always suspicious of strangers, but I’ve never known a brigade of servants who wouldn’t welcome an extra pair of hands.’

  ‘A “brigade”,’ she said with a slight chuckle. ‘Is that really the collective word for servants?’

  ‘Probably not,’ I conceded. ‘But one does have a “brigade de cuisine”. It’s probably “staff”, or something mundane and downtrodden.’

  ‘An obsequience of servants?’ she suggested. ‘A toadying?’

  ‘It’ll be a “revolution” of servants one day,’ I said darkly.

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a moment,’ she said. ‘But in the meantime, you’re comfortable with the idea of inveigling your way into their ranks and making sure you get to serve at High Table?’

  ‘Leave it to me, my lady,’ I said. ‘I’m a mistress of inveigling when I’m pressed.’

  ‘Indeed you are. Then off you trot. Inveigle away.’

  ‘Right you are, my lady,’ I said, turning for the door. ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, if there’s one going. And perhaps some cake?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Below stairs, the day’s work had all but ceased as everyone gathered round poor Morgan and bombarded him with questions. He caught my eye as I entered the room, and looked pleadingly at me for rescue. One of the housemaids noticed his glance and turned towards me, nudging her friend. Within moments I, too, was besieged by chattering servants, clamouring not just for news of the crash, but for some indication of what his lordship and his guests were thinking, saying, and doing.

  Under most circumstances, I’m not easily intimidated, but with so many people asking so many questions, and with me being so keen to stay on the right side of them so as to put myself into a better position to gain their trust and to work with them, I found myself a little overwhelmed. Almost all the staff were taller than I, and with nearly a dozen of them clustered around me, I felt as though I were at the bottom of a well.

  I was struggling to answer them as best I could, and I’d almost regained control of the situation, but I confess to being rather relieved when Mr Spinney’s loud, clear voice firmly said, ‘That’s quite enough now, ladies and gentlemen, thank you. Get back to your work and we can harangue Miss Armstrong again later.’

  There were mutters and sighs from the assembled staff, and I shrugged and smiled as if to say, ‘What can you do, eh? Tch. Bossy old Mr Spinney spoiling our fun,’ but they quickly and obediently dispersed, despite their obvious reluctance.

  When the room had cleared – even Morgan had taken the opportunity to escape – Mr Spinney turned to leave and bade me follow him. He led me along a short corridor I’d not taken before and through the door at the end into what turned out to be his own rooms. His office-cum-sitting room was cosily appointed. There were two overstuffed armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a modest bookcase in the corner. Against one wall there was a sturdy oaken desk, upon which sat a mechanical decanting cradle.

  He invited me to sit in one of the armchairs.

  ‘Please accept my apologies,’ he said, settling into the other chair. ‘You shouldn’t have had to endure that.’

  ‘Really, Mr Spinney, it was nothing. But thank you for your concern.’

  ‘Thank you. I . . .’ He paused, looking oddly uncomfortable, and not just because of the way he was sitting.

  ‘Is something else the matter, Mr Spinney?’ I said.

  ‘It’s really a little awkward,’ he said.

  ‘Come now,’ I said. ‘It can’t be as bad as all that.’

  ‘I’m reluctant to impose.’

  ‘Is there something I can do?’ I asked. ‘I’m more than happy to help in whatever way I can.’

  ‘You’re most kind, Miss Armstrong, but we have strict standards at Codrington concerning the treatment of our guests and their servants. We endeavour to make everyone’s stay as comfortable as possible, no matter their station in life. “Do unto others . . .”, as the Good Lord said. One never knows when one might be a guest in someone else’s home and be grateful of a warm and comfortable welcome.’

  I nodded and smiled.

  ‘And so, you see, we make it a rule never to ask anything unreasonable of those to whom we have extended our hospitality.’

  ‘What would you like me to do?’ I asked, trying to save the poor chap from having to dance around the subject any longer than he really needed to. ‘I’m entirely at your disposal.’

  ‘For his lordship’s sake, we must find out who was responsible for the terrible death of poor Mr Dawkins. And for his lordship’s sake, we must also avoid a scandal. I wonder . . .’

  ‘If Lady Hardcastle and I would be willing to employ our snooping skills to get to the bottom of things without involving the local bluebottles? We are nationally famous busybodies by now, after all.’

  ‘Well, I . . . er . . .’ he stammered.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Spinney, I mustn’t tease. I should be glad to help, and I’m certain Lady Hardcastle shall be more than willing, too. Lord Ridd
lethorpe is one of her brother’s oldest friends, after all.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, with obvious relief. ‘You really don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said kindly. ‘It will be . . .’ – I was about to say ‘fun’, but I stopped myself in time; it would never do to suggest that the investigation of murder was fun – ‘. . . satisfying . . . to bring the culprit to book.’

  ‘To book?’ he said with slight alarm. ‘I was rather hoping we might deal with this without involving the courts. We must avoid a scandal at all costs.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t promise that,’ I said. ‘We might play fast and loose with the law on occasion, but we never break it.’ This last was something of a white lie – we had broken the laws of many lands in the pursuit of our former employment as agents of the Crown, but he didn’t need to know that. ‘If we can resolve matters to everyone’s satisfaction, however, while avoiding both scandal and the breaking of important laws, then we shall.’

  ‘That’s all I have a right to ask,’ he said at length.

  ‘Very well, then,’ I said with a smile. ‘Did you have anything specific in mind? Any ways in which you thought we might be better able to investigate things?’

  ‘Well,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s where we come to another rather presumptuous suggestion. I rather thought that if you were to spend more time below stairs, you might inveigle yourself into the confidence of the staff, and it would also grant you many opportunities to wander the house and observe the guests.’

  It was all I could do not to laugh. ‘What a thoroughly splendid idea,’ I said. ‘But why the staff? Do you have any suspects already?’

  ‘One would hate to think that anyone on his lordship’s staff would do anything so black-hearted as to kill Mr Dawkins,’ he said gravely. ‘But . . . well . . . for all my efforts, Evan Gudger shows no signs of mending his ways.’

  ‘But he’s just a headstrong young lad,’ I said, ‘testing how far he can push the rules.’

  ‘I do hope so. And then there’s Morgan Coleman. He’s an ambitious young man.’

  ‘Surely you don’t think his ambition would push him to murder?’ I said.

  ‘Again, I do hope not. But that makes it all the more important that you be free to investigate, to observe, to question. You have the power to free these men from suspicion as soon as you catch the real culprit.’

  ‘You make a good case,’ I said. ‘How shall we explain my sudden enthusiasm for work when I’ve spent the past couple of days conspicuously avoiding you all and idling in my room?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps we might say that you have grown bored of indolence and would welcome some honest labour to keep your mind from dwelling on the tragedy?’

  ‘You’re a cunning and clever man, Mr Spinney. I shall leave it to you to introduce the idea to the others.’

  Chapter Seven

  Mr Spinney had worked his leadership magic upon the troops, and I had slipped into service with the staff without fuss or fanfare. I wasn’t at all sure I was completely trusted, but as I had said to Lady Hardcastle earlier, no one ever turns down the offer of an extra pair of hands below stairs, so I wasn’t going to be kicked out any time soon. I was also regarded as a potentially valuable source of gossip, which I think was the thing that really tipped the balance in my favour.

  I had brought my best uniform ‘just in case’, and by the time dinner was served, I was shipshape and Bristol fashion and ready to play my part at dinner. I had helped the footmen with their preparations, and joined them in serving dinner. It most definitely wasn’t the done thing for a lady’s maid to be serving at table, but with guests for dinner and with Evan otherwise engaged – serving as valet to both Mr Waterford and Herr Kovacs – no one was going to refuse my offer of help.

  Despite the shocking events of the afternoon, all the guests had assembled for pre-prandial drinks in the library, and the mood by the time they sat to eat was respectfully muted, but not sombre. Lord Riddlethorpe was quietest of all, but even he was a great deal more buoyant than he had been earlier in the afternoon.

  Mr Spinney’s carefully thought-out seating plan had been completely ignored. The guests had simply seated themselves in the order in which they arrived in the dining room when dinner was announced, and this, to Mr Spinney’s evident disapproval, meant that the ladies were all on one side of the long dining table and the gentlemen on the other. Lady Hardcastle sat at one end, with Helen Titmus, Lady Lavinia, and Rosamund Beddows to her left. On the opposite side were Lord Riddlethorpe, Viktor Kovacs, Harry, Montague Waterford, and an elderly gentleman whom I assumed to be Lord Riddlethorpe’s Uncle Algy.

  The table had been set with a selection of hors d’oeuvres on platters along the centre of the table, to which the diners helped themselves as they settled down. The sight of caviar and other delicate savouries seemed to be just what they all needed, and conversations sparked immediately up and down the table.

  As the gigantic soup tureen arrived, spirits began to rise still further. I gathered from a whispered comment from one of the footmen that Mr Spinney was still a little grumpy as he coordinated the delivery of the dishes from the servants’ hall, but up here in the dining room things were, if not actually jolly, at least pleasingly convivial. Mrs Ruddle had excelled herself. Everything looked and smelled delicious, and from the reactions of the diners, I assumed that the soup, at least, tasted as good as it looked.

  With the soup course placed upon the table, we servants positioned ourselves around the edges of the room, ready to serve, but discreetly invisible. I could never work out whether people forgot we were there, or just didn’t care enough to imagine that we mattered, but it happened in houses all over the country. Once we’d put the food in front of them and stepped away, it was as though we didn’t exist. Some servants resented it (in private, at least) but I found it fascinating and sometimes extremely useful – when they felt as though there was no one there to hear them, the upper classes could often be wonderfully indiscreet.

  I’m certain that one day some clever scientist will work out how we do it, but I find it’s possible to focus on individual speakers in the hubbub of dinner conversations. I was listening to Mrs Beddows complaining about the treatment she’d received at a dressmaker’s in Kensington, when my attention was suddenly grabbed by an urgent, half-whispered comment from Herr Kovacs to Lord Riddlethorpe.

  ‘All I am saying, my friend, is that the offer is there. In the light of . . . the recent events, I should be willing to discuss . . .’

  I was unable to make out exactly what it was that Herr Kovacs was willing to discuss because his hushed voice was suddenly drowned out by Lady Lavinia.

  ‘Really, Uncle Algy! You’re incorrigible.’

  I turned to look farther down the table and saw Uncle Algy giggling like a naughty schoolboy as he sipped his soup. Mrs Beddows was laughing heartily – the first time I had seen her express any emotion other than disdain, displeasure, or disapproval since her arrival – while Lady Hardcastle attempted to conceal her own laughter behind her wine glass.

  ‘Not at the dinner table, you think?’ said the old gentleman, still twinkling.

  ‘Not even at the dinner table in a brothel, Uncle Algy,’ said Lady Lavinia, which made Mrs Beddows laugh even more.

  ‘I once had the most marvellous dinner in a brothel,’ said Uncle Algy. ‘I remember there was this one gel, Spanish I think she was, and she could—’

  ‘Algy!’ said Lady Lavinia sternly. ‘No!’

  He giggled again and scooped up another spoonful of soup. ‘Don’t worry, m’dear,’ he said once the mouthful was safely swallowed. ‘Young Rosamund here can look after herself. If I should chance to offend her, I’m sure she’ll give me what for. Told that Dawkins fella where to get off, eh?’

  ‘What are you talking about, Uncle?’ said Lady Lavinia.

  ‘Last night. At the party,’ persisted the old man. ‘Damn near slapped the poor fella. That’s when I tried
to get a game of St Uguzo’s Holy Cheese going. Lighten the atmosphere, what? Never saw what happened after that – young Edmond gave me my marching orders. No fun for Uncle Algy. No fun . . .’ His voice trailed wistfully away, and he returned to the last few mouthfuls of his soup.

  ‘You never said anything about any of this, Roz,’ said Lady Lavinia.

  ‘Didn’t seem worth the bother,’ said Mrs Beddows coldly. ‘The oily tick said something vulgar, and I put him in his place.’

  ‘Vulgar, dear?’ asked Lady Lavinia.

  ‘Suggestive,’ said Mrs Beddows. ‘Lewd. I told him I’m a married woman and he ought to mind his manners or . . .’

  ‘Or what, dear?’ said Lady Lavinia with growing concern.

  ‘He never found out,’ said Mrs Beddows. ‘That was when Uncle Algy tried to organize his impromptu entertainment.’

  ‘But Roz, darling, you—’

  My attention was pulled sharply away from the conversation by a nudge from the young footman standing next to me as he alerted me to the signal from Lord Riddlethorpe that it was time to clear the soup course and prepare the way for the fish.

  And then we prepared the way for the sorbet.

  And the salad.

  And the game pie.

  And the puddings.

  And finally, the coffee cups were cleared and the port decanter emerged, along with an enormous platter of cheeses. Lady Lavinia stood and said, ‘Well now, ladies, there aren’t very many traditions of which I approve, particularly since most of them seem to be aimed squarely at spoiling my fun, but I do rather think that there’s one we ought to maintain. Let’s withdraw to the library and leave the boys to . . . Actually, I’ve never been quite certain what it is we’re leaving them to, but I’m convinced that we have more fun without them. Library. Cognac. Belgian chocolat. Allons-y!’

  And with that, the other three ladies stood, dropped their napkins on the table, and trooped out. I caught Lady Hardcastle’s eye, and with a slight tilt of her head, she indicated that I should follow.