by T E Kinsey
‘Cues, my lady.’
‘Really? I wonder why.’
I found the servants’ hall deserted but for the housekeeper, Mrs McLelland, who was sitting at the table with a pot of tea and the newspaper.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs McLelland,’ I said, pulling out a chair. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
She lowered the newspaper and regarded me across the top of the half-folded page. ‘Ah, Miss Armstrong,’ she said. ‘Good afternoon. Please make yourself at home. There’s at least one more tea in the pot, if you’d care for one.’
I turned, took a clean cup and saucer from the dresser, and sat down opposite her. As I poured, I said, ‘How does everyone seem to be coping after the tragedy?’
‘Coping?’ she said, folding the newspaper and putting it to one side.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Something like that can really shake people up. Even the best of us can suffer quite horribly after something dreadful like that has happened. I was just wondering if any of the staff were showing any signs of having been affected.’
She snorted. ‘Want to pull themselves together if they have. I’ll not have any malingering poltroons on my staff. If any of my girls feel the need to sit around feeling sorry for themselves every time something goes wrong, they can do it on their own time and well out of my earshot. We’ve all suffered tragedies, but where would we be if we sat around moping? Get up and make the best of it, I say.’
Heaven help anyone on the Codrington Hall staff who should suffer any manner of shock, I thought. The arrival of Evan Gudger saved me from telling her exactly what I thought of her attitude.
‘Good afternoon, Evan,’ I said cheerily.
‘Eh?’ he grunted.
‘Good afternoon,’ I said again. ‘Are you well?’
‘Well enough,’ he mumbled.
‘Jolly good,’ I said to his retreating back as he disappeared down one of the many subterranean passageways.
‘That young fellow needs to have some manners knocked into him,’ said Mrs McLelland. ‘I don’t know what Mr Spinney is playing at letting him get away with that sort of discourteous behaviour. A spell in the army would do him good. Teach him some discipline.’
‘I understood he’d had a troubled childhood,’ I ventured. ‘Lost his parents.’
She snorted again. ‘People lose family members all the time. Doesn’t turn them all into insolent jackanapes.’
I had clearly caught her on a bad day.
I drained my teacup in one last gulp. ‘Well, I’d best be getting on,’ I said, standing up. ‘Is Mr Spinney in his room, do you know?’
‘Yes, I believe so. Though I’ve one or two jobs that need doing if you find yourself with idle hands.’
‘I shall be sure to seek you out if he doesn’t need me,’ I lied.
I set off in the direction of Mr Spinney’s rooms, but turned off once I was out of sight. I made my way instead to the boot room, where I was sure I might find Evan, or at least someone who knew where he might be. As it turned out, he wasn’t there, but one of the young lads was able to point me in the right direction. I found him loitering in the kitchen yard.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked truculently.
‘As a matter of fact,’ I said, in my cheeriest, friendliest voice, ‘I rather think you might be able to.’
He looked at me quizzically for a moment. ‘Has that old witch sent you to give me what for?’ he asked.
I laughed. ‘No,’ I said. ‘But she’s not your most ardent admirer.’
‘None of ’em is,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s always on my back for something.’
‘Have you ever wondered,’ I asked, ‘whether that might be because you go so very far out of your way to antagonize them?’
It was his turn to laugh. ‘I reckon you might be right at that,’ he said. ‘But they’re all such . . . such . . .’
‘It can seem that way,’ I said before he could find whatever insulting word it was that he was looking for. ‘But you might give them the benefit of the doubt once in a while. You might find that they have your best interests at heart after all.’
‘I doubt it. They just want to make sure everyone knows their place and stays in it. It gets so boring sometimes, I has to do something, you know, to stir ’em up a bit.’
‘Perhaps I can help with that.’
His quizzical look returned. ‘Oh?’
‘I have a little mission that might amuse you,’ I said, and outlined our plan for keeping an eye on Herr Kovacs.
I left Evan to his loitering and returned to the servants’ hall, where the unaccountably sour face of Mrs McLelland had been replaced by three faces I’d only previously seen to say hello to. If anyone was likely to be able to give the whisper on the goings-on both above and below stairs, it was going to be these three. Nellie Perrin was Lady Lavinia’s lady’s maid and Dan Chanley was Lord Riddlethorpe’s valet, while Arnold Simkin had served as valet to Uncle Algy since both of them were young men.
‘Aha,’ said Mr Simkin as I approached. ‘Here comes the woman herself. Sit yourself down, my lovely, and tell us your news. Miss Perrin, see if you can’t scare another cup out of that pot.’
I raised an enquiring eyebrow as I sat in the indicated chair.
‘Now then, Miss Armstrong,’ continued Mr Simkin affably, ‘what’s this we’ve been hearing about you and your mistress investigating the accident?’
He was a small, dapper man with a neatly trimmed, snow-white moustache. He had a twinkle in his eye that suggested he might very well be just as much trouble as his employer.
‘That rather depends,’ I said, taking the cup of tea from Miss Perrin’s waiting hand, ‘upon what you’ve heard.’
‘Aha,’ he said, slapping the table. ‘I told you she was a shrewd one. Not giving anything away, this one.’
I smiled, and raised my eyebrow once more in Miss Perrin’s direction.
‘Take no notice of him, my dear,’ she said. ‘He said nothing of the sort.’
‘Thought it, though. Thought it,’ said Mr Simkin. ‘Knew she was cunning.’
Miss Perrin sighed. I judged she was closer to my own age, but something about her slightly motherly manner made her seem older.
‘There’s been a rumour going about the place,’ she said, ‘that the accident wasn’t an accident. One of the footmen overheard his lordship telling Mr Waterford that Morgan had said the motor car had been interfered with.’
I smiled again. ‘There’s nothing quite so good as a first-hand account,’ I said. ‘But in this case, your Chinese whispers are correct. I was with Morgan in the stables when he found that the brakes had been tampered with.’
‘Brakes, eh? So someone killed Mr Dawkins on purpose, like?’
‘That’s certainly a possibility.’
‘You don’t mess about with the brakes on a vehicle unless you intend someone harm,’ said Mr Chanley, finally breaking his silence. ‘Someone had it in for Mr Dawkins, make no mistake. His lordship is distraught. Hardly sleeping.’
‘Back to my original question, m’dear,’ said Mr Simkin. ‘Are you and your mistress investigating?’
My mission below stairs had been to observe the servants while maintaining the illusion that I was some crazed work addict who couldn’t sit still and relax while she was away from home. But I’d already decided that these three were the key to finding out what was going on, so it was worth letting them in on the act.
‘You heard correctly, Mr Simkin. The police were satisfied that it was an accident – I got the feeling that the inspector rather felt it was by way of divine retribution upon the idle rich for their foolishness. But when it became clear that skulduggery was involved, Lady Hardcastle decided that we might serve our host by poking under a few rocks and seeing what scuttled out.’
‘And that’s why you’re working down here all of a sudden?’ said Miss Perrin. ‘I did wonder.’
‘Mr Spinney suggested it,’ I said. ‘He thought it might help. If I were working with t
he staff, I’d be free to come and go about the house, and no one would think anything of it.’
‘That silly old fool?’ she said. ‘You should have just come straight to us. We’d have told you what’s what. Wouldn’t we?’
‘Aye,’ said Mr Chanley. ‘It’s a bad business, indeed. It needs sorting out.’
I looked round as one of the scullery maids scurried through bearing a basket of vegetables. It didn’t seem to be a terribly private place to be having our conversation, but I could think of nowhere else that wouldn’t cause even more gossip and speculation were we to be found out.
‘What do you know of the motor racing team?’ I asked. ‘Is it just a fancy of Lord Riddlethorpe’s?’
‘We all thought it was at first, didn’t we, Mr Simkin?’ said Mr Chanley. ‘I wouldn’t have a word said against his lordship, and it’s been my honour to serve him these past fifteen years, but he hasn’t always been a man of purpose. He’s never wanted for anything except something to do. He’s taken to all manner of fads and novelties over the years. Painting, poetry, horse racing, horticulture – you name it, he tried it. He even packed himself off to Egypt at one point, with me trailing in his wake. Imagined himself an archaeologist, he did. Fancied he was going to discover lost tombs and treasures.’
‘And did he?’ I asked.
‘He came down with dengue fever just as we arrived in Cairo. After spending two weeks in bed, he decided that archaeology wasn’t for him and that what he really wanted was to be a potter. So we bought a couple of crates of local pottery as inspiration and shipped ourselves back home.’
I laughed in spite of myself. ‘Something of a butterfly, then,’ I said. ‘But you seemed to be saying that you thought the motor racing was different? What changed?’
‘His father died,’ he said. ‘He suddenly found himself the ninth Earl of Riddlethorpe. Grew up overnight. He threw himself into it like nothing he’d ever done before. It had been just another one of his fads until then, but it became an all-consuming passion once his father had passed. He bought motor cars, learned all about them, and then started building his own. He fell in with that Mr Waterford, and it went from being a gentleman’s hobby to being a real business. He spent this past year building it all up; they even laid the test circuit in the grounds, and now here it is, all crumbling around him.’
‘You said “that” Mr Waterford. Do you disapprove?’
‘He’s a bit of a fly one, if you ask me,’ said Chanley.
‘How so?’ I asked.
‘Can’t say as I can put my finger on it precisely. You get a feeling, you know?’
‘I do know,’ I said. I turned my attention to Miss Perrin. ‘And what does Lady Lavinia make of it all?’
‘She was pleased as Punch when it finally looked like his lordship was settling down,’ she said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, she loves her brother like billy-o, but it would be a lie to say she wasn’t worried as to how he might never settle to anything.’
‘Has she said anything about the accident?’
‘She’s as shook-up as everyone. She didn’t really know Mr Dawkins, but she knows as how it could have been any of them who copped it. Any of “you”, I should say – you were down to race, too.’
‘Hmm, yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose I was. And what about “Uncle Algy”, Mr Simkin? Has he said anything?’
Mr Simkin chuckled. ‘Sir Algernon is an uncomplicated man, Miss Armstrong. As long as he has access to regular meals, a supply of decent claret, and young, amusing company, he is happy to let the world get about its business without his interference. He was saddened by the death of Mr Dawkins, with whom he had enjoyed several boozy evenings, but a gentleman of his age has known much death, and he isn’t dwelling upon it. He did say that it was bound to happen sooner or later – he is unconvinced of the safety of motor cars in general.’
So much for that line of questioning, then.
‘But what have you discovered, Miss Armstrong?’ asked Miss Perrin. ‘Where have your investigations taken you?’
I recounted my earlier conversation with Lady Hardcastle, during which we had run through all the people who had been in the house on the night of the sabotage. There were murmurs of agreement when I got to the part about Herr Kovacs.
‘I never trusted him,’ said Miss Perrin. ‘You can’t trust the Germans.’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘he’s Hungarian.’
‘They’re all the same,’ she said adamantly.
‘Well, I’ve got young Evan Gudger doing some snooping for me. He’s looking after both Herr Kovacs and Mr Waterford, I believe.’
‘You’ve done what?’ said Mr Chanley, almost choking on his tea. ‘That little . . .’
‘That young man is rude, ill-disciplined, ungrateful, lazy, and will almost certainly fall into a life of viciousness and petty crime if he doesn’t mend his ways,’ I said. ‘But he’ll be breaking the rules and thumbing his nose at authority by working for me, and I happen to think he’ll be rather good at it.’
‘I don’t fancy your luck at all,’ said Mr Chanley, but I saw a sly grin on Mr Simkin’s face and a twinkle in his watery old eyes that gave me to believe that he, at least, agreed with me.
Having dutifully played my part in the serving of afternoon tea, and having heard nothing of any consequence in any of the many conversations I overheard, I had returned to Lady Hardcastle’s room. To be clear, it wasn’t just that I had heard nothing that had any bearing on the mystery, I had heard nothing of any consequence whatsoever. Sometimes large groups of people can talk for hours without sharing any news, views, or information of any kind, and so it was with the houseguests that afternoon. Many words were spoken, many laughs were laughed, but very few thoughts seemed to pass across the minds of any of the participants.
I was laying out an evening gown for Lady Hardcastle when the lady herself returned.
‘What ho, Flo,’ she said, crossing the room to sit at the writing desk.
‘Welcome back, my lady,’ I said. ‘Did you enjoy tea?’
‘It was frightfully jolly, wasn’t it? But I confess to feeling positively whale-like with all this eating.’
‘We could arrange some calisthenics, if that would help. I’m sure the other guests would welcome the chance for some healthy exercise. I packed you some suitable clothes.’
‘I’m sure you did. But no, I think I can best recover my poise by sitting quietly for a moment.’
‘As you wish, my lady, but the offer’s there.’
‘You’re very kind,’ she said. ‘What news from the netherworld?’
‘Not much progress, I’m afraid. I tried to natter with Mrs McLelland, but she was a little out of sorts, so I tracked down Evan Gudger and recruited him to the cause.’
‘Oh, I say, well done. Do you think we can trust him?’
‘No.’
‘Rely on him in any way?’
‘Almost certainly not.’
‘Can we do any better?’
‘I’m not sure we can, my lady, but we can hope for the best. There’s not much damage he can do, though. Even if he decides to turn the opportunity towards mischief, we’re alert to the possibility that he’s not playing with a straight bat after all.’
‘I shall leave his management entirely in your capable hands, dear,’ she said. ‘Did you manage to beard anyone else?’
‘I also spoke to the personal servants – Lady Lavinia’s lady’s maid, as well as Lord Riddlethorpe’s and Sir Algernon’s valets.’
‘And what did they have to say for themselves?’
I briefly recounted our conversation while I hunted for a pair of evening shoes.
‘Nothing much, then,’ she said.
‘Not a great deal, my lady, no. But at least they’re on our side now.’
‘Unless one of their employers is the guilty one. Now that you’ve tipped our hand, they’ll be running back to their master or mistress to tell them how best to avoid our suspicions.’
‘I take
your point,’ I said. ‘But from the look of them, none of them is in much of a position to be running anywhere. I think even a brisk stroll would do for old Arnold Simkin.’
She laughed. ‘I believe I’ve seen him wheezing about the place.’
‘So there we are, my lady. Unless you’ve come across any clues, I rather fear we’re stumped.’
‘Clues, yes,’ she mused. ‘It’s about now when we could do with coming across the distinctive prints of the culprit’s shoe, set about with the ash of a brand of cigarette sold only in a single shop in Riddlethorpe, of which we alone are aware.’
‘Perhaps there might be mud that we could identify as being unique to a particular area of that town.’
‘And a torn thread from a coat worn only by members of a now-disbanded Indian regiment.’
‘We’ve got a pair of pliers, my lady,’ I said.
‘That’s pretty much it, though, isn’t it,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Ah well, perhaps our snoop will come up with something after all.’
‘Perhaps, my lady. Shall I draw you a bath?’
‘Would you? That would be splendid. Are you serving at dinner this evening?’
‘No, Mr Spinney has rearranged the roster, and I’m doing breakfast instead. I shall be dining in my room with Betty.’
‘Oh, that’ll be nice. I like her.’
‘I do, too.’
‘Well, if you give me a hand to get ready, you can toddle off to your garret.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, and began to draw her bath.
By the time Lady Hardcastle was ready to set off for the library, I was more than ready for a break. She was never an especially demanding employer, and I treasured her company, but the four or five daily changes of clothes required during a country house stay became less and less fun as the visit went on. My final task for the day was to remind her where she had left her lorgnette (hanging by a long chain around her neck), and then I was free to trot up the back stairs to the attic room and flop on to my bed.
I had just picked up The Time Machine when there was a timid knock at the door. Betty’s face peered round it as it opened.
