by T E Kinsey
‘I’d not rule it out,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But she wasn’t at the pub, so how could she have poisoned him?’
‘So it was Lock?’
‘Again, possible. He was certainly at the pub that day. But so were several other people. Dick Alford, for instance.’
‘Oh my gosh, yes,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘They hated each other. Lots of tension over the cattle sale.’
‘And the prize bull,’ I said.
‘The prize bull,’ she said. ‘Completely forgotten that. Yes. It has to be Alford. He could have slipped something into Carmichael’s cider at the pub and no one would have noticed.’
Lady Hardcastle laughed. ‘Steady on, Gertie darling. We can’t go accusing them all. What about Morris Carmichael?’
‘The wet lettuce son?’
‘He’s a wet lettuce?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Of the very limpest sort,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘Don’t mind a chap not wanting to get his hands dirty on the farm if his heart lies elsewhere, but he’s so spineless about it.’
‘How do you mean, darling?’
‘Never stood up to his father. Just went along, looking droopy and miserable. Dashed good painter, by all accounts. Could give you a run for your money, Emily, what? But he never said, “Papa, I am moving to the city to be an artist, and to the Devil with your blessed farm.” No, he just sullenly accepted his lot.’
‘Was he afraid of his father?’ I said. ‘Was he bullied by him?’
‘Spencer Carmichael tried to bully everyone, m’dear. But yes, Morris got the worst of it.’
‘They always say poison’s a woman’s weapon,’ said Lady Hardcastle, thoughtfully. ‘But perhaps it’s a wet lettuce’s weapon, too.’
‘Oh, dear lord, it could be any of them,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud with a slight chuckle.
‘What do you know about their other neighbour, darling?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Laurence Dougal. We met him this morning on the way to Top Farm.’
‘Funny chap, Dougal,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud, thoughtfully. ‘Made a lot of fuss about a year ago about how he was selling up and moving on. Big plans for a business venture in Gloucester, I think. Twelve months on and he’s still here. Dreamer. Head in the clouds.’
I had a sudden thought. ‘No one’s mentioned Toby Thompson,’ I said.
‘Dear old Toby,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Of course. Well done, Flo. Did I ever tell you he was the first person we met on our first morning walk after we moved in, Gertie? Lovely chap. Why isn’t his name on my list? He must be a regular at the market.’
‘Oh, he is, m’dear, but not this past month. His sister’s ill. He’s been staying with her up in North Nibley.’
‘Oh, how sad,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But why didn’t Mrs Carmichael mention him? He’s one of her neighbours, surely?’
‘No, m’dear. I’d have to get the map out to show you, but his farm’s the other side of Noah Lock’s. Not strictly her neighbour.’
‘Aha,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That would account for it.’
‘And what are your thoughts, m’dear?’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘Who did it?’
‘Oh Gertie, you are funny. We’ve only spoken to two people, the police haven’t found any evidence that they’ve told us about, and the police surgeon hasn’t even confirmed he was poisoned yet. Mrs Carmichael said he’d been ill.’
Lady Farley-Stroud looked dismayed. ‘Getting overexcited, eh?’
‘Just a tad, darling,’ said Lady Hardcastle, kindly.
There was a knock on the door and Jenkins came in with the coffee tray.
‘I say, Jenkins, what took you so long?’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘Been to Brazil for the coffee?’ She chuckled.
‘I believe this particular blend comes from Costa Rica, my lady.’ Jenkins was a straightforward fellow, almost entirely unencumbered by a sense of humour.
‘Does it, by crikey,’ she said. ‘I say, ever been to the West Indies, Emily?’
‘No, dear. But my aunt used to go out there quite a bit.’
‘Jamaica?’ said Lady Farley-Stroud.
‘No… Antigua,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘My uncle worked in the sugar business.’
‘Cook sends her apologies, my lady,’ said Jenkins. ‘But the egg delivery was late and she’s only just now finishing off the cake she had intended to make. She asks if you might like some of this shortbread instead.’
‘I should bally well say so, Jenkins,’ said Lady Hardcastle enthusiastically. ‘We’ve had Mrs Brown’s shortbread before. Thank her very much.’
‘Yes, Jenkins, do,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud.
‘Will that be all, my lady?’ he said.
‘Yes thank you,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘Oh, have you seen Sir Hector?’
‘He’s in his study, I believe, my lady. Would you like me to convey a message?’
‘No, don’t wake him up. Will you stay for dinner, Emily?’
‘Thank you, dear, but no. We ought to be getting back. I still have one or two things to do back at the house. Another evening, perhaps?’
‘That would be splendid,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘We shall be just two for dinner as usual, then, Jenkins. Would you like the car, Emily?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, darling, that would be lovely.’
‘Tell Bert, would you, please, Jenkins,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said with a bow. He left quietly.
Back at the house I prepared a light meal which we ate together while Lady Hardcastle speculated wildly on the subject of poisons and poisoning.
‘You see,’ she said, gesticulating with her fork, ‘there are poisons which act almost instantly, and some which take hours. It would be so much easier if we knew what it was that killed Carmichael. Then we could work backwards and establish when the poison was administered. And then, of course, we’d have a better idea who our suspects might be.’
‘What are the most likely poisons, then?’ I asked.
‘Well there’s our old friend arsenic,’ she said, tapping the medical book on the dining table that was the source of her newfound expertise. ‘That can take as little as half an hour and it’s not frightfully hard to acquire. We don’t know how Carmichael was feeling just before he died so we can’t know if the symptoms match, but it’s possible that someone could have slipped him some while he was in the pub.’
‘Isn’t there something in the report about him looking a bit peaky all morning, though, even before Lady Farley-Stroud saw him?’ I said.
‘There is, but Mrs Carmichael said he’d been ill, so that might not mean anything. Unless of course she’d been giving it to him for a while. You can slowly poison someone with a small, steady dose.’
‘So we can’t rule out arsenic,’ I said.
‘No. And then there’s cyanide, of course. That can be very quick. Someone wandering past the table could have dropped some in his cider… and then…’
‘Lady Farley-Stroud did say that he just keeled over.’
‘She did, pet, she did.’
‘What about strychnine?’ I said.
‘Slower acting, but it does lead to convulsions. Gertie said he spasmed before he collapsed.’
‘And they’re all fairly easy to get hold of,’ I said.
‘That’s the problem. I do wish the police surgeon would get on with it.’
‘Perhaps we could contact Inspector Sunderland in the morning,’ I suggested.
‘I think we might have to, pet,’ she said. She munched contemplatively on her dinner for a few moments. ‘I say,’ she said, ‘this trout is delicious.’
‘Thank you, my lady. It’s the cyanide that makes the difference. Some people use flaked almonds, but I find that a touch of prussic acid adds a piquancy that can’t be matched.’
‘You’d never get away with it, pet. Sunderland would be onto you like a shot.’
‘We’re in it together, my lady. He’s tired of being shown up by your bri
lliance.’
She laughed. ‘If only I were brilliant. I feel like an absolute duffer at the moment. I don’t have the faintest idea how we’re going to solve this one.’
‘We’ve only just begun, my lady. Wait until we’ve spoken to a few more of the farmers, then you’ll feel better.’
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘When did Bert say he’d be here tomorrow?’
‘I suggested ten o’clock, my lady. I thought it would give us time to do a few things about the house and for the farmers to be back at home after their early start.’
‘Good thinking, pet. What do you think: Alford or Lock first?’
‘Alford was a bad loser, but would that be enough to want to kill a man? Lock had more to gain if he could free the Fair Audrey from her loveless marriage and take her for his own.’
‘He’d be doing them both a favour,’ agreed Lady Hardcastle. ‘Shall we toss a coin?’
‘Only if you have one, my lady, for I am but a poor servant girl with no money of her own.’
She laughed again, the smile transforming her face, making her seem sunnier and more alive than I’d seen her for a long while. ‘You’re lively today, Flo,’ she said. ‘What’s got into you.’
‘Honestly? I have no idea. Perhaps it’s the relief of finding that you’re properly on the mend.’
‘I’m sorry I worried you, dear. One gets wrapped up in oneself and forgets that it’s hard on everyone else, too. I ought to write to Harry and let him know how things are going.’
‘You ought, my lady.’
‘But how shall we choose whom to visit?’ she said. ‘We need something governed entirely by chance.’ She looked around. ‘Oh, I know: the book. You riffle through the pages and I’ll shove my finger in at random. A page number ending one or three will be Lock first, five or seven will be Alford.’
‘And if it’s a nine, my lady?’
‘Then Bert takes us into Bristol and we have a slap-up lunch, an afternoon of shopping and try to catch a show at the Hippodrome. And hang the murder investigation.’
‘Crikey, you’re on.’
I lifted the front cover of the book out of the way and then riffled through the pages. Lady Hardcastle’s finger darted between them as they fell and I opened the book fully to see what fate had chosen for us.
‘Page 257,’ I said disappointedly. ‘Looks like we’ll be speaking to Dick Alford tomorrow morning.’
‘It seems that way, pet. We’ll have to have our day out another time.’
‘Pfft,’ I said. ‘Stupid murderers and their stupid murders.’
‘Quite so, pet, quite so. Now let’s get cleared up and we can update the Crime Board. And then I think a little music is in order. Perhaps we can make up some bawdy music hall songs to make up for our missed trip to the Hippodrome.’
‘She was only a fishmonger’s daughter…’ I sang, and gathered up the plates.
I was up with the lark on Saturday morning, and resolved at once to make enquiries as to the sleeping habits of larks. Do they really rise early? “Up with the lady’s maid” might be just as evocative of early rising but perhaps open to unfortunate misinterpretation.
By the time Lady Hardcastle rang for her morning coffee, I’d completed quite a few chores that I had been putting off and was feeling rather pleased with myself as I took it up to her.
She was sitting up in bed, reading, when I entered.
‘Good morning, pet,’ she said.
‘And good morning to you,’ I said. ‘At last. Coffee?’
‘“At last”, eh? Are you calling your mistress a slugabed?’
‘If the nightcap fits.’
‘Harrumph,’ she said. ‘It’s Saturday. Surely a lady can rest on a Saturday.’
‘That would be true, my lady, were it not the case that the lady in question takes her ease on the other six days of the week as well.’
‘You, my girl, are a puritan. And a… a…’
‘A perfectly charming and wonderful woman, my lady?’
‘If you like,’ she said with another harrumph.
‘It’s actually only eight o’clock, my lady,’ I said. ‘Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes and Bert won’t be here until ten. I’ve laid out some clothes and polished your boots.’
‘You seem to have everything well in hand, pet. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, my lady. I shall yell uncouthly when breakfast is served.’
‘We need a gong, dear.’
‘Nonsense, my lady. A good strong pair of Welsh lungs is all we need. See you presently.’
I excused myself and went back downstairs.
Breakfast and dressing passed without major incident. There was a moment of slight drama over a loose button on the dress, but Flo’s Magic Sewing Box came to the rescue there. Bert arrived at the door exactly as the hall clock struck ten and we were soon on our way to Dick Alford’s farm in Woodworthy.
We arrived just as Mr Alford was walking back up the lane from one of his more distant fields and Lady Hardcastle asked Bert to stop and let us out so that we could walk with him. Mr Alford, too, stopped in the lane and regarded us with suspicion as we both clambered out of the motorcar.
‘Good morning, Mr Alford,’ said Lady Hardcastle, approaching him. ‘I’m Lady Hardcastle and this is Miss Armstrong.’
‘And good mornin’ to you, m’lady. I knows who you are,’ he said, knuckling his forehead. ‘I seen you with Lady Farley-Stroud down The Hayrick t’other week. Heard about you ’fore that, o’ course. What can I do for you?’
‘We’re trying to find out a little more about the death of Mr Carmichael,’ she said.
‘That old buzzard? Shouldn’t speak ill and all that, but good riddance to him.’ He resumed his trudge back to the farmhouse and we fell in beside him. Lady Hardcastle gestured to Bert that he should park the motorcar and wait.
‘You’re not the first person to say that to us, Mr Alford,’ she said. ‘And we only started asking about him yesterday.’
‘Don’t reckon you’ll get many different opinions round here,’ he said. ‘On the day the Good Lord was handing out charm and happy-go-lucky personalities, Spencer Carmichael was round the back trying to start a fight with St Peter over sommat or other, I reckons.’
‘When did you last see him?’ she said.
‘Thursday, down The Hayrick. Saw him sitting there, hunched over his pie, glaring at everyone. Then a little later he was face-down in it.’
‘And when did you last speak to him?’ I asked.
‘I went over to his place last week after he cheated me at the auction. Gave the old codger a piece of my mind.’
‘What did you say?’ I said.
‘Told him I’d not stand for none of his nonsense no more and if he bilked me again I’d give him what for.’
‘And what was his reaction?’
‘Told me to… beggin’ your pardon, ladies, but I can’t say what he told me to do in present company.’
‘We get the gist,’ said Lady Hardcastle with a grin. ‘But why did you think he’d cheated you?’
‘Well,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘now I comes to tell it to someone else, I i’n’t certain no more that he did. It was just every time I thought I was about to get a little bit ahead, there was Carmichael, putting the kibosh on it. Like he was doing it on purpose. He didn’t need them cows from off the Farley-Stroud estate. He just wanted ’em so I couldn’t have ’em. Good milkers they was. I could-a done with they.’
‘Where did this altercation take place?’ she said.
‘Out in his yard.’
‘He didn’t invite you in? Offer you a cup of tea and talk it over?’
Alford laughed. ‘Spencer Carmichael? Genial host? He wouldn’t give you the steam off… begging your pardon ladies.’
‘Was Mrs Carmichael there?’ I said.
‘Audrey?’ he said, slightly wistfully. ‘She didn’t come out, but I seen her through the window, like.’
‘And she didn’t i
nvite you in?’
‘She never done nothing without Spencer’s say-so.’
‘So you had your row in the yard,’ I said. ‘And then what?’
‘I just left him to it,’ he said. ‘I’d said my piece, so I just left him to stew on it. It weren’t going to do no good, like, but I felt all the better for having said it.’
‘And you didn’t see him again until the next market day?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘No, m’lady, didn’t have no cause to. He weren’t the sort of bloke you’d seek out for company if you knows what I mean.’
We had arrived at the farmhouse gate where Alford stopped, plainly unwilling to invite us further.
‘Do you keep any poisons, Mr Alford?’ I said abruptly.
He stared at me, first in surprise, and then with mounting anger.
‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, coldly.
‘Poison, Mr Alford. Do you keep any?’
‘I hope you’re not accusing me, Miss…’
‘Armstrong,’ I said. ‘No, Mr Alford. I’m trying to find out where the poisons are around these parts. We’re new round here.’
‘Every farmer has poison, Miss Armstrong. Rats. They eats the feed, damages the barns. Pests. We kills ’em,’ he said, looking me defiantly in the eye.
‘And what do you use?’ I said, returning his stare.
‘Arsenic.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Yes, Mr Alford, thank you,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
We stood in silence for a few moments.
‘I got to be getting on,’ said Alford. ‘Good day.’
And with that, he opened the gate, walked through and then closed it behind him without giving us a second look.
‘Well that told us,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we walked back towards the motorcar and the ever-patient Bert. ‘Nice job rattling him at the end there. Caught him off guard.’
‘Didn’t help us much, though,’ I said, disappointedly.
‘Oh, I don’t know, pet. You goaded him into giving you a defiant and definite answer.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said as we clambered into the car.
‘Where to now, m’lady?’ said Bert as we settled into our seats.
‘Let’s go and see Noah Lock,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Audrey Carmichael’s forbidden love.’