by T E Kinsey
‘Yes?’ she said, suspiciously. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Mrs Carmichael?’ said Lady Hardcastle, warmly. ‘I’m Lady Hardcastle, from Littleton Cotterell, and this is Florence Armstrong. Inspector Sunderland of the Bristol CID has asked us to… to… umm…’
‘I’ve heard of you,’ said the widow, still on her guard. ‘Local busybodies, they say. You want to poke your nose into my Spencer’s death, too?’
‘I want to help you find out the truth, Mrs Carmichael. I lost my own husband at the hands of a murderer and I understand all too well the sadness, anger and frustration you must feel.’
‘Begging your pardon, my lady,’ said Mrs Carmichael with more than a hint of bitterness, ‘but you don’t understand nothing.’
‘Then help me to understand, Mrs Carmichael. Please may we come in and talk?’
Audrey Carmichael eyed us both appraisingly for a while longer until finally she said, ‘You’d better both come in, then.’
The inside of the farmhouse was as clean and well looked after as the outside and she led us into a warm, cosy kitchen.
‘I’ve just made a pot of tea,’ she said, fetching clean cups from the hooks on the Welsh dresser.
We sat at the large kitchen table while she fussed with the tea things.
‘You must be devastated, Mrs Carmichael,’ said Lady Hardcastle, kindly. ‘I do so hate to intrude, but if we can catch your husband’s killer–’
‘What makes you so certain he was killed?’ interrupted Mrs Carmichael, sitting down with us.
‘Well, I…’
‘The doctor insists it was poison,’ I said.
Mrs Carmichael laughed. ‘Doctor Manterfield, was it?’ she said, derisively. ‘That old quack? What does he know? Spencer was ill. He’d been ill a couple of days ’fore he even went to the market.’
‘So you don’t think he was murdered?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
‘There’s plenty as would have liked to murder the old buzzard, that’s for sure,’ said Mrs Carmichael. ‘But that sort of thing don’t happen in real life, does it. Not round here.’
‘You’d be surprised, Mrs Carmichael,’ I said.
‘Like as not, I would be,’ she said. ‘But that don’t make it so.’
‘I gather your husband was not a popular man,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
Mrs Carmichael laughed again. ‘Spencer was a curmudgeon and a bully, Lady Hardcastle. He was a humourless man whose only real pleasure came from trying to make everyone around him just as miserable as he was.’
We sat in embarrassed silence.
‘Shocked you, a’n’t, I,’ said Mrs Carmichael. ‘I can’t say as I’m glad he’s gone – I loved him once and I never really wished him ill – but a lot of people’s lives’ll be just that little bit brighter without his dark cloud hanging over them.’
‘People like whom?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘“Whom”,’ said Mrs Carmichael with the first near-smile I’d seen her give. ‘’Ark at she.’ She chuckled dryly. ‘Be quicker to give you a list of people who liked him.’
Lady Hardcastle produced her notebook and pencil from her voluminous handbag. She leafed through the first few pages until she came to the notes she had made earlier. ‘Can you tell me anything about your neighbours, Mrs Carmichael? Would any of them have a grudge?’
‘Pretty much all of them, I’d say,’ said Mrs Carmichael. ‘But let’s see, there’s Laurence Dougal over one side.’
‘Yes, we met him on the way here. Nice enough chap. Doesn’t seem to relish the life of the farmer, but he seems pleasant enough. How did Mr Carmichael get on with him?’
‘Like I said, no one really got on with Spencer.’
‘But did they have any special disagreements?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Same as everyone else as far as I knows. They had a row down by the boundary gate this last week, I think.’
‘What about?’ I said.
‘Couldn’t say; didn’t hear, didn’t care. Spencer was always arguing with someone.’
‘I see,’ said Lady Hardcastle, looking at me quizzically. ‘And on the other side?’
‘Noah Lock’s our neighbour on t’other side. Lovely bloke.’
‘No arguments there, then?’
‘Look,’ said Mrs Carmichael wearily. ‘I knows you means well, and despite all as I’ve said, I really does want to find out if it was murder, but you i’n’t listening, are you? Spencer Carmichael, my late husband, was a miserable old codger who rowed with everyone. ’Course he rowed with Noah.’
‘What about?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Whatever he could think of.’
‘Anything recent?’
‘Noah pops by a couple of times a week… just… to be neighbourly, like. I ’spect Spencer found cause to harangue him about sommat.’
‘I see,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘And what about other neighbours? Does anyone else come to call?’
‘No, them’s our only actual neighbours as you might say.’
‘What about…’ Lady Hardcastle flicked back a page or two in her notebook. ‘Ah, yes, here he is… Dick Alford? Did you ever see him?’ she asked.
‘Old “friends” as you might say. He’s from over Woodworthy but they knowed each other for years.’
‘And what did they argue about?’
‘Now you’re getting it,’ said Mrs Carmichael. ‘You name it, love, they argued about it,’ she said. ‘’Twas like it was their favourite pastime. Latest was when Spencer’s bull won a prize and Dick accused him of nobbling his bull.’
‘Mr Carmichael beat Mr Alford at the auction last week, too,’ I said.
‘Don’t I know it, love. Dick came round here shouting the odds that night. “You knew I wanted them cows, you bribed the auctioneer.” They was at it for ages.’
‘And did he?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Did he what?’ said Mrs Carmichael.
‘Did he bribe the auctioneer?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him, but I don’t reckon so. Dick Alford was just a bad loser.’
‘I see,’ said Lady Hardcastle, making a few more notes. ‘Do you have any other regular visitors, any other friends?’
‘None as I can think of,’ said Mrs Carmichael. ‘Farmers tends to keep close to their neighbours case they needs help when things go bad. But that i’n’t to say they’s friendly, so no one travels miles for social calls, not like in your world. Them’s the only ones as we see and I reckon you got a picture now of how Spencer didn’t exactly get along with any of ’em.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Carmichael,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I understand you have children. They must be saddened by this terrible news.’
‘Two daughters and a son, yes,’ she said, a little more warmth returning to her voice. ‘The girls both married and moved away. I’ve written to them but I don’t know as they’ll come for the funeral. One’s in Portsmouth, married a sailor. T’other’s in service in London; lady’s maid, she is, and her fella’s a valet.’
‘I worked in London myself,’ I said, looking over at Lady Hardcastle.
‘Done all right for yourself now, a’n’t you,’ said Mrs Carmichael. ‘It don’t seem such a bad life. Better than this, sometimes, I reckons.’
‘And your son?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Our Morris? He’s still here. He’ll be out cleaning the sheds.’
‘Will he take over the farm?’
‘I should have liked to think so,’ said the widow, sadly. ‘But I just don’t know. He could make a good living for hisself, and lord knows I can’t run the place on my own.’
‘But…?’ prompted Lady Hardcastle.
‘But he hates the place. He only ever stayed for me. Now that his father’s gone, don’t seem like there’s nothing to keep him here. He’ll be off soon enough, I reckon.’
‘Did he get on with his father?’ asked Lady Hardcastle. Mrs Carmichael simply raised her eyebrows and shrugged as though to say, “Really? Have you
really not been listening?”
We sipped our tea in silence for just a few moments longer, but it was clear that there was little more to say.
‘Well, Mrs Carmichael,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘we oughtn’t to take up any more of your time. Once again, I’m sorry we had to intrude upon your mourning, but we really do want to get to the bottom of all this.’
‘I do understand, missus,’ said Mrs Carmichael. ‘But I hopes you does, too. Like I said, there’s shock and a little sadness like there always is when someone passes, but in the long run he’ll not be sorely missed.’
We said our awkward goodbyes and promised that we would be keeping Mrs Carmichael informed of our progress. She saw us to the door and we stepped carefully across the yard to the waiting motorcar.
‘Well that was a little odd,’ said Lady Hardcastle as Bert drove us to The Grange.
‘Not quite the grieving widow I was expecting to meet,’ I agreed. ‘She was upset, but I wouldn’t say that her husband’s death was the cause of it. She was pleased to be rid of him.’
‘There was certainly an element of that, yes. We should have a proper ponder. Perhaps Gertie will have some insights; she must have known them all for years.’
The journey from Top Farm was a short one and it wasn’t long before the tyres were scrunching on the gravel drive outside the impressive Georgian manor house. The brakes squealed, the car stopped, and Bert stepped smartly out to open Lady Hardcastle’s door. I let myself out the other side as he helped her to clamber out, and waited while she straightened herself out.
‘Oh,’ she said abruptly. ‘The picture.’ She leant back inside the car looking for the drawing we had brought for Lady Farley-Stroud. I let her rummage around for a short while before tapping on the window and pointing at the brown-paper package I had picked up when I got out of the car.
‘Is this what you’re looking for, my lady?’ I said, innocently.
She scowled, and struggled back out of the motorcar.
‘I expect you think that’s rather amusing,’ she said as we walked towards the shining, red front door.
‘Pardon me, m’lady,’ said Bert from beside the motorcar.
Lady Hardcastle turned. ‘Yes, Bert?’
‘I was wondering if I might go down to the kitchens for a cuppa, my lady.’
‘Why Bert, of course. How silly of me to forget. Yes, please do. I shall ring for you when we’re ready to leave. Until then, you have my permission to lounge and idle.’ She winked, and with a smile and a touch of the peak of his cap, he set off for the servants’ entrance at the back of the house.
‘I say, Flo, we really must get one of those,’ said Lady Hardcastle as he walked out of sight.
‘A chauffeur, my lady?’ I said.
‘No, you goose, a motorcar. Can’t you just picture me behind the wheel with you by my side? Free to come and go as we please. Roaring down the highways and byways…’
‘Crashing into ditches and trees,’ I said.
‘O ye of the tiniest amount of faith,’ she said, aiming a flick at my ear. ‘It can’t be all that difficult. Bert manages it and he’s scarcely possessed of the keenest of minds.’
‘I agree he’s something of a plodder, my lady, but he has a certain single-mindedness about him. He has the advantage of having a dogged determination to concentrate on the task at hand. He’s not a flighty old biddy who always has her mind on something else.’
‘Pfft,’ she said. ‘I know a lady’s maid who might not get any supper.’
‘And I know a grumpy old widow who might struggle to cook supper for herself,’ I said, dodging another flick.
She laughed and rang the doorbell. ‘A telephone and a motorcar, pet, that’s what we need.’
Jenkins, the Farley-Strouds’ butler, answered the door.
‘Lady Hardcastle,’ he said with a welcoming smile. ‘And Miss Armstrong. Please do come in.’ He opened the door fully and ushered us inside, and then helped both of us with our hats and coats and put Lady Hardcastle’s walking stick into the new elephant’s-foot umbrella stand. ‘Lady Farley-Stroud had hoped you might be calling. She asked me to take you to the drawing room.’
He led the way, though we had spent enough time in the house by now to know our own way.
‘Please make yourselves comfortable,’ he said, indicating the chintz-covered chairs.
‘Thank you, Jenkins,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Are you well?’
‘Passing well, thank you, my lady. How very kind of you to ask. I shall tell my lady that you’re here.’
He bowed and left.
The room, like the rest of the house, was slightly dated and dowdy, with a faintly melancholy air of faded elegance. But it was warm and welcoming for all that, and it was surprisingly easy to become very comfortable very quickly.
Lady Farley-Stroud arrived with Jenkins after only a few minutes and waved me back into my chair as I attempted to stand up.
‘Sit down, m’girl,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t have one of me own servants sitting on the best furniture, but Emily treats you as part of the family and who am I to make a fuss.’
I nodded my thanks.
‘Hello, Gertie, darling,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I do hope you don’t mind us dropping in.’
‘Not at all, dear,’ said our hostess. ‘Glad to see you. Jenkins? Coffee for three, please. And some cake if Mrs Brown has any.’
‘Certainly, my lady,’ said Jenkins, closing the door behind him as he left.
‘So sorry about yesterday, Emily,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud when he had gone. ‘Don’t know what came over me.’
‘You’d had a shock, darling,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Perfectly natural. Think nothing of it. How are you feeling now?’
‘Much better, m’dear, much better.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. You had us quite worried.’ She picked up the gift that had been lying on the sofa beside her. ‘We brought you a little something to cheer you up.’
She handed over the brown-paper package which Lady Farley-Stroud opened eagerly.
‘You shouldn’t have, m’dear,’ she said as she struggled with the string. ‘But thank you. Much appreciated. Don’t get many presents.’ She finally freed the framed picture from its wrapper and laughed delightedly. ‘Oh, I say. How wonderful. You’ve quite captured me. You’re a very clever lady. Thank you. We’ll have to put it in the hall where everyone can see it.’
She carried on examining the sketch, beaming with pleasure.
‘Sorry to have made such a fuss, Emily dear. Not like me, not like me at all.’
‘Pish and fiddlesticks,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’d be more worried if it hadn’t affected you. It must have been awful.’
‘Oh it was, m’dear, it was.’
‘What happened, exactly? Had you been at The Hayrick long?’
‘Got there early, about eleven, I’d say. Found a table with McGuire–’
‘The chap we met last week, your estate manager?’
‘That’s the fella. Ambrose McGuire. Salt of the earth. He was bringing me up to date on the cattle herd. Dour chap, little dry, but witty when he wants to be.’
‘You said yesterday you were sitting with Mr Carmichael,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘“Sitting near” would be more like it,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘You remember those long tables in the public bar? McGuire and I were opposite each other at one end, Carmichael was a little farther down, on McGuire’s side.’
‘Was he with anyone?
‘Carmichael was never “with” anyone, m’dear. Not a popular man.’
‘So we gathered.’
‘Oh?’ said Lady Farley-Stroud with a raised eyebrow.
‘We’ve just come back from talking to the Widow Carmichael,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘That poor woman. Can’t say I ever spent much time with her m’self,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud, finally setting the picture down on a side table. ‘She never came to market.’
‘No
, I don’t suppose she did. She gave us quite an unexpected picture of her late husband, I must say.’
‘Spencer Carmichael was an unpleasant old goat. Doesn’t do to speak ill of the dead, I know, but it can’t be helped. Man could start a fight in an empty room.’
‘You’re not the first person to say that today, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘No, heard it in the pub one day. Thought it apt. Not kind, but it did make me chuckle at the time.’
‘Which is why he sat alone, one presumes.’
‘Exactly so, m’dear. Difficult man to be with.’
‘Did he look well?’
‘Not really, dear, no. Quite peaky.’
‘But you talked?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
‘Briefly. One minute he was grumbling about his new cows, the next minute he was dead.’
‘Just like that?’
‘He shuddered a bit, then fell forwards into his pie.’
‘He didn’t clutch his throat at all? Did he struggle for breath?’
‘Choking, you mean? No, just an almighty spasm and then gone.’
‘And was there anyone near him? Had anyone spoken to him?’
‘Not as far as I recall, dear, no. Solitary man. No friends that I know of. Always wondered about the wife, how she ended up with him. Well liked as far as I know. And beautiful, too. Turned more than a few heads in her day, I can tell you.’
‘She’s rather striking even now,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I was wondering: did she have any admirers?’
‘I should jolly well say so.’
‘Noah Lock?’ suggested Lady Hardcastle.
‘Oh, I say, you are good, aren’t you,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud, appreciatively. ‘How on earth did you reach that conclusion?’
‘Oh, just the way she stumbled over explaining why he “popped round” a couple of times a week “to be neighbourly, like”.’
‘It’s been an open secret for years, m’dear. But she’s devout. “Till death us do part,” it said in her vows and she was never going to break a promise she’d made before God.’
‘But if Carmichael were suddenly to die, she’d be free to marry Lock. Interesting.’
‘You think she killed him herself?’ asked Lady Farley-Stroud, excitedly.