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

by T E Kinsey

  He nodded, and made another note.

  ‘Did you hear anything further?’ he asked. ‘Did anything else awaken you?’

  ‘Nothing definite,’ I said. ‘I fancied I heard a door twice more, but I didn’t wake properly, so I might have dreamed it.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And you discovered the body this morning?’

  ‘Not quite, Inspector,’ I said. ‘I was with Lady Hardcastle and Miss Titmus. We passed the coach house just as Morgan was opening it up. He discovered the body.’

  ‘So he did, so he did. What happened then?’

  I recounted the events as concisely as I could while he carried on writing. At length, he finished making his notes and looked up. ‘Thank you for your help, Miss Armstrong,’ he said. ‘I think I have enough to be going on with now. Would you be good enough to send Miss Betty Buffrey to me, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, and stood to leave.

  Back in Lady Hardcastle’s room, I recounted my brief interview with the inspector.

  ‘He doesn’t waste any time on chit-chat, does he?’ said Lady Hardcastle when I’d finished. ‘I thought we’d be stuck in there for hours while he delved into every aspect of life here.’

  ‘I was in and out before I’d had a chance to become uncomfortable in that dining chair,’ I said.

  ‘Nice touch, that: sit the victim in an awkward chair. Puts them at a disadvantage while he lounges in an armchair. Did you get the feeling he had any idea what’s going on?’

  ‘None at all,’ I said. ‘Although he might just be being cagey – he had no reason to let me in on the results of his deliberations.’

  ‘No, you’re right. Inspector Sunderland would have told us, mind you. Did he ask you anything about the crash?’

  ‘Not as such,’ I said. ‘He suggested that Herr Kovacs might have been clubbed while he was interfering with the motor cars, that was all.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And he made no mention of the note. Do you think he even saw it?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have pulled me up on my “lured” comment if he had. How could he have missed it?’

  ‘He couldn’t,’ she said. ‘Not a man who leaves notes all over the scene of the crime for his assistants to follow up.’ She sat for a moment in thought. ‘Keep cave for me for a moment, would you? I’m going to nip into Viktor’s room again.’

  I followed her out into the passage and loitered awkwardly while she slipped into the still-unlocked bedroom. She emerged scant moments later and waved me back into her own room.

  ‘No sign of it,’ she said once the door was closed behind her.

  ‘So either the inspector has it and isn’t letting on—’

  ‘—or it was gone by the time he searched the room,’ she said, finishing the thought for me. She sat down at the writing desk and waved me into the armchair.

  ‘I wish we’d pinched it ourselves now,’ I said. ‘We could do clever things with the handwriting. Or something.’

  ‘Or something,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Its absence tells us something, though, don’t you think? I’d say that makes it odds-on it was sent by the murderer.’

  ‘As opposed to . . . ?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said airily. ‘Some sort of red herring placed there by the Fates to throw us off the scent.’

  ‘The Fates go in for that sort of thing, do they?’ I said. ‘Don’t they have more important matters to concern themselves with?’

  ‘Contumacious and capricious are the Fates. One never knows where they’ll turn their mischievous attentions.’

  ‘Right you are, my lady,’ I said. ‘It’s still no real help, though. Anyone could have taken it.’

  ‘Anyone?’

  ‘We strolled nonchalantly in and out of the room without being noticed. We might have a little more experience at furtivity than everyone else in the house, but it didn’t tax our skills even a tiny bit. Anyone who could find their way to Herr Kovacs’s room could have filched the note, with no one else the wiser.’

  ‘I’ll concede that. But did anyone have an obvious opportunity?’

  ‘Evan Gudger is supposed to be in and out of there all day if he’s serving as valet. We met that housemaid in the passage, too.’

  ‘With Mrs McLelland giving her stern instructions not to go in,’ she said. ‘And then, of course, there was . . .’

  ‘Mrs Beddows?’ I suggested.

  ‘Roz Beddows, yes . . . R B.’ She had been doodling on a page of her journal as we spoke. Now she stared pensively at the ceiling, tapping her mechanical pencil against her teeth.

  ‘It might not be someone’s initials,’ I suggested. ‘It could stand for anything. A coded instruction, maybe. Or some familiar signature between friends.’

  ‘“Rule Britannia”, perhaps?’

  ‘Or “Rubber Bananas”. Or “Reluctant Baboons”. Or “Re-heated Beetroot”? The possibilities aren’t limitless, but they’re huge. So it doesn’t have to be a person’s initials.’

  ‘It doesn’t,’ she said, ‘but it’s the most commonplace way of ending a letter, to sign it with one’s name or initials. Would someone who was close enough to have a secret sign-off also be likely to bludgeon their friend to death?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ I said. ‘What I’ve seen of Mrs Beddows over the past few days hasn’t endeared her to me, and I’ve not heard much from Betty that would change my opinion. Nevertheless, I’m reluctant to believe that she’s the sort to smash a man’s head open with a big spanner.’

  ‘Technically, I think it was a wrench. Adjustable, do you see? But I concur. The idea of her being a murderer doesn’t sit well.’

  ‘Someone else using her initials as a ruse, then?’ I said. ‘For all her character flaws, she’s a strikingly attractive lady. An offer of a meeting with her might tempt any man.’

  ‘And your pal Betty says she was on manoeuvres. Perhaps Viktor was the lucky recipient of her attentions. They were thick as thieves during the croquet match.’

  ‘And if the murderer knew that, what easier way to lure Herr Kovacs to his doom.’

  ‘It’s all possible,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I’d be overly thrilled by the offer of an assignation in a dusty, oil-stained coach house, mind you.’

  ‘That would never have occurred to Herr Kovacs. He loved oil and machines. It would have been his own romantic paradise.’

  ‘The question, then,’ she said as she put down her pencil and stood up. ‘Is who on earth had motive enough to lure him out there and do him in?’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Yes?’ called Lady Hardcastle.

  The door opened and Miss Titmus poked her head in.

  ‘Ah, Emily,’ she said, ‘there you are. Would you mind awfully if I came in?’

  ‘Not at all, dear. Pull up a . . . Oh, there are no more chairs. That’s a bit of an oversight.’

  I rose from the armchair.

  ‘Please, miss,’ I said, ‘take the armchair. It’s surprisingly comfortable.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to push you out if you two are busy.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘She can sit on the bed.’

  ‘Actually, my lady,’ I said, ‘I was thinking of popping down to the kitchen to see if they were doing anything for your lunch. With the inspector doing inspectory things, and everyone all of a twitter, lunch seems to have been overlooked.’

  ‘This is why you need a lady’s maid, Helen, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’m sure I’d starve to death without her.’

  ‘I’ve said the same thing myself, my lady,’ I said.

  ‘Often,’ she said. ‘Off you trot, then, dear. To be honest, I’m not ravenous. See if you can scare up some sandwiches or something. Would you care to join me, Helen? We ought to take advantage of this wonderful weather and take them out on to the lawn for a picnic.’

  I set off in search of food.

  The servants’ hall was, as I’d suggested, all o
f a twitter. Beneath the usual chit-chat that accompanied the hustle and bustle of daily life, there was a tense, murmuring hubbub. Two deaths within a week, and the second was most definitely deliberate murder. The staff were rattled.

  A couple of housemaids looked round guiltily as I came in, but quickly resumed their gossiping when they saw I was only one of the visiting servants.

  Mrs Ruddle was busy supervising the production of sandwiches in the kitchen.

  ‘Afternoon, Mrs Ruddle,’ I said. ‘Hello, Patty. Are those sandwiches intended for upstairs by any chance?’

  ‘That’s right, m’dear,’ said Mrs Ruddle. ‘His lordship said as how he didn’t want no lunch. But I said, “You got to eat, my lord.” Didn’t I, Patty?’

  ‘You did, Mrs R,’ said Patty.

  ‘So Lady Lavinia said we should send up a tray of sandwiches to the dining room and people could help themselves. I said, “That’s no substitute for a proper lunch, my lady.” Didn’t I, Patty?’

  ‘You did, Mrs R,’ said Patty, with a little smile.

  ‘But I suppose it’ll have to do,’ said Mrs Ruddle resignedly. ‘If that’s what they wants, that’s what they gets.’

  ‘They look scrumptious, Mrs Ruddle,’ I said. ‘Would you think me awfully cheeky if I were to divert some of them to Lady Hardcastle and Miss Titmus? They say they fancy a picnic on the lawn.’

  ‘If you can carry it out yourself, m’dear,’ she said, ‘you can take whatever you think you need. I’ll get Patty to make you up a tray. We’re short of footmen with Evan gadding about goodness knows where, so the less we have to get to the dining room the better.’

  ‘You’re a marvel, Mrs Ruddle. Thank you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ she said. ‘I said the other day—’

  ‘You did, Mrs R, you did,’ said Patty, without looking up from her work.

  Betty appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Ah,’ she said timidly. ‘Hello everyone. I wonder . . .’

  ‘What ho, Betty,’ I said. ‘Come to cadge some lunch for Mrs Beddows?’

  ‘Why, yes, actually. How did you . . . ?’

  ‘We’re all at it,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to get something for Lady Hardcastle and Miss Titmus. They’re having a picnic on the lawn. You should get Mrs Beddows to join them – it would save you a fair bit of mucking about. One lunch, and two of us to carry it.’

  ‘I don’t think she’d want that,’ she said nervously. ‘She’s . . . ah . . . She’s indisposed.’

  ‘Righto,’ I said. ‘Can we leave it all in your hands, then, Patty? We’ll be back in a few moments to gather our fancy fare and get out of your . . . hair. Come on, Betty, let’s leave these good ladies to it.’

  Without waiting for a response, I took Betty by the elbow and led her out into the servants’ hall. It was busy, but that was all to the good. It meant that there was enough going on to cover a private conversation. I indicated that we should sit at one end of the long table, and poured us both a cup of tea from the ever-present pot.

  ‘What’s the matter, fach?’ I said. ‘You don’t seem your usual happy-go-lucky self. Is it the murder? It can be unsettling, I know, but Inspector Foister will get to the bottom of it. We’re in no danger.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? You’re not working for a murderer.’

  I found myself unable to respond immediately. I stared at her for a moment with my mouth hanging gormlessly open. After a lengthy pause, I gathered myself together enough to say, ‘Mrs Beddows?’ Not my finest hour as an amateur sleuth.

  Betty nodded.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ I asked as my wits returned.

  ‘She killed Mr Kovacs,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Why are you sure?’

  ‘She wasn’t in her room all night, and now she’s in a terrible state. It must be her.’

  ‘Is that what you told the inspector?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I . . .’

  ‘You’re not as sure as all that, then,’ I suggested.

  ‘What else can it be, though? She did him in; she must have.’

  ‘I thought you said she’d been “on manoeuvres” before. Perhaps she accidentally stayed too long. I confess I thought she might be seeing Herr Kovacs, but I take it I was wrong.’

  It was her turn to look dumbfounded. ‘Mr Kovacs?’ she said, almost laughing. ‘She’s been carrying on with Mr Waterford. For months. I thought everyone knew.’

  ‘Not me,’ I said. ‘Nor Lady Hardcastle. We’re new to your set, remember. Does her husband know?’

  ‘He ignores it for the sake of propriety. And so that he can conduct affairs of his own. Theirs is a “marriage of convenience”, I think they call it. She wants his status, he wants her money. As long as neither of them causes a scandal, they just get on with their own lives. Their home is a miserable place for the most part, but she and I are seldom there, so it’s not too bad.’

  ‘How thoroughly awful. But how do you know she wasn’t with Mr Waterford last night? Isn’t that where she’s been every night?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Oh my goodness. What if they’re in it together?’

  ‘I still don’t understand why you think she had anything to do with the murder of Herr Kovacs, though.’

  ‘Was there a lot of blood?’ she said.

  I didn’t want to get too deeply into the grisly details. Some people imagine themselves to be fascinated, but become surprisingly squeamish once you get down to blood-soaked brass tacks. ‘A fair amount,’ I said as blandly as I could.

  ‘So the murderer would likely have got some on their clothes?’

  ‘I should say that was inevitable,’ I said.

  ‘Mrs Beddows is fastidious about her wardrobe. Everything has to be just so. The right clothes for the right occasion. She has indoor clothes, outdoor clothes, sports clothes, evening clothes, lunchtime clothes—’

  ‘They all do that,’ I said.

  ‘I know. She’s very fond of a tweed skirt and jacket she bought this season for outdoors.’

  ‘I’ve seen her in them. She looks very smart.’

  ‘They’re missing,’ she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Betty helped me carry the impromptu picnic out on to the lawn, and then disappeared to sort out her own mistress’s refection.

  ‘You’re a living marvel, Flo,’ said Lady Hardcastle as I helped them both to sandwiches and wine.

  ‘You really are,’ said Miss Titmus.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘One tries one’s best. Will there be anything else, my lady?’

  ‘No, I think you’ve met our every need and anticipated our every desire,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Thank you. In that case, I shall leave you to your nattering.’

  ‘Stay and eat with us, you goose,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘Please don’t leave on my account. I know you two spend a lot of time in each other’s company. I should hate to think you were having to behave any differently because of me. You’re away from home in a gorgeous country house – you should be having fun. Both of you.’

  ‘You’re very kind, miss,’ I said. I sat on the rug and helped myself to a sandwich.

  ‘Helen and I were talking about photography again, I’m afraid,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Did you know they’ve got a darkroom here? It was one of Fishy’s Fancies so it’s not used any more, except when Helen’s here.’

  ‘I had no idea. I’ve not really had many excuses to wander the main house.’

  ‘The old snooping skills are fading,’ she said. ‘But it means we’ll be able to see her photographs before we go.’

  ‘How wonderful.’

  ‘I was planning to get in there today,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘But what with all the ghastliness, it didn’t seem right somehow. You know, to be doing normal things.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Lady Hardcastle kindly.

  ‘It’s so upsettingly horrid. Who could have d
one such a thing?’

  ‘I’m sure the police will catch him.’

  ‘It must be someone from the town,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘It must be. Otherwise it’s someone in the house, and that would be too, too, horrid. Too horrid for words.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re in any danger, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘It all seems to have something to do with Fishy’s motor cars. And we have nothing to do with Fishy’s motor cars.’

  ‘I suppose not. You two didn’t get to race, did you? Nor Roz and Jake. Let’s hope that means the girls will be safe. Oh, but . . .’

  ‘But what, dear?’

  Miss Titmus looked around almost furtively. ‘That thing I was telling you about earlier. You know . . . Roz.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lady Hardcastle slowly as the penny dropped. ‘Well, yes, I suppose that does rather . . .’

  I smiled. ‘I wouldn’t ordinarily be quite this indiscreet,’ I said, ‘but I think I might be able to cut down on the number of unfinished sentences here if I reveal that I know about Mrs Beddows and Mr Waterford.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘We try to pretend that the servants never know what goes on,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘But we’re only fooling ourselves.’

  ‘You could have told me sooner,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘I found out while I was fetching the picnic,’ I said.

  ‘Well, that makes things easier to discuss,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘What I was trying to say in my roundabout way was that Roz does have a connection with Fishy’s blessed motor cars because of her and Monty.’

  Lady Hardcastle and I exchanged glances, but neither of us commented. As far as we were aware, we were the only ones apart from its author who knew about the incriminating note in Herr Kovacs’s room.

  Talking of which . . . ‘Do you remember showing us that picture from your schooldays, Miss Titmus?’ I asked.

  ‘The cricket team?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. Have you any idea why Herr Kovacs might have taken it?’

  She looked puzzled. ‘No, none at all. How do you know he took it?’

  ‘We had a quick poke about in his room before the rozzers arrived,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘It was on his writing desk.’