by T E Kinsey
‘To be so perfectly on time,’ I said. ‘You always ring the bell just as the clock chimes.’
He chuckled. ‘Well, I has Our Dad’s pocket watch – keeps excellent time, that does – so that gets me here near enough… and then you has the loudest hall clock in Christendom. If I gets out of the car as soon as I hears it start to chime, I can ring the door just as it starts to strike the hour.’
‘Oh,’ I said, stepping aside so that Lady Hardcastle could get out of the door. ‘How mundane.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, miss,’ he said with a grin.
‘Most mysteries offer up a mundane solution in the end, pet,’ said Lady Hardcastle as I locked the door and the three of us walked to the car.
‘Even the murder of Mr Carmichael?’ I said.
‘Actually, that could turn out to be a little more out of the ordinary, but I’d wager you’ll still say, “Oh,” in a disappointed tone if I’m proven correct. Mysteries are at their most interesting while they remain mysterious.’
Bert held the door for her and she slid gracefully into the back seat while I walked around the car and let myself in beside her.
The Gloucester Road took us all the way into Bristol and we saw few people until we arrived in the heart of the city. There were a few more motors, carts and carriages about as we climbed the slight hill towards the Bristol Royal Infirmary on Marlborough Street, our first stop.
‘This is a surprise,’ I said as the car drew up outside the entrance.
‘Just a quick visit to an old university friend, dear,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he won’t mind helping us out.’
Bert opened the door for her and she waited on the pavement while I clambered out the other side. Then with brief instructions to Bert to wait nearby because “we shan’t be too long”, Lady Hardcastle and I made our way inside the hospital where a smartly-dressed porter gave us directions.
After a long walk down echoing corridors that smelled strongly of disinfectant, we finally arrived at a closed door whose brass nameplate declared it to be the office of Dr Simeon Gosling. Lady Hardcastle knocked.
‘Yes? What?’ said an irritated voice from inside.
She opened the door and we both stepped tentatively into the cramped office.
A bespectacled man of about Lady Hardcastle’s age was sitting behind a desk piled high with folders and papers. His expensive suit was rumpled and his collar slightly askew. Without looking up, he said, ‘Look, I really am most fearfully busy. Can you just leave whatever it is there and I’ll deal with it presently.’
‘Good morning to you too, Sim, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle, cheerfully.
He looked up and his weary face broke into a smile that made him look a great deal more handsome than I had at first thought. He stood, knocking a teetering pile of paper to the floor.
‘Emily! What ho, my darling girl. How the devil are you? What a delight.’
‘Uncommonly well, thank you, dear,’ she said, leaning across the chaos of the desk to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.
‘I heard you’d been in the wars, old girl,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘But you’re looking well on it, whatever it was. Sit down, do.’
‘Thank you, dear. You remember Armstrong?’
‘I do indeed. Welcome to my lair, Miss Armstrong. My apologies for the mess; it’s so hard to find decent help these days. Don’t fancy a part-time job on the side, I suppose?’
‘Full time if you like, sir,’ I said, sitting down on one of the rickety bentwood chairs. ‘I can start on Monday.’
Lady Hardcastle harrumphed.
‘So what can I do for you, Emily?’ he asked. ‘I presume this isn’t a purely social call.’
‘I regret to have to admit that it isn’t, darling, no. Though we really must have lunch soon.’
‘Any time you like,’ he said with a smile. ‘We have a delightful canteen.’
‘I’m sure that would be charming,’ she said, and he laughed. ‘But for now, dear, I need to pick your considerable brains. What do you know about poisonous fungi?’
‘A little,’ he said. ‘Why? Planning to do someone in?’
‘Not quite, but it might have something to do with a case we’re working on.’ Once again she ran succinctly through the events of the past fortnight, this time starting with our trip to the cattle market with Lady Farley-Stroud and Maude Denton. When she had finished, she handed over the manila folder that Inspector Sunderland had given us.
‘Well I never,’ said Dr Gosling once he had finished skimming through the contents of the file. ‘What a world you live in. I thought it was all country dancing and “Who’s Got the Prettiest Pig?” competitions out there.’
‘“Out there”?’ said Lady Hardcastle with a laugh. ‘We’re about fifteen miles away. “Out there” indeed!’
‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘It’s scarcely the beating heart of modern civilization, is it?’
‘Perhaps not, dear. But unfortunately they still find the time between all the country dancing and pig fancying to do each other to death over the slightest things.’
‘And deadly webcap is a particularly nasty way to do it,’ he said after a moment’s consideration.
‘You think it’s possible?’ she said. ‘Could it be the mushrooms?’
‘Well, the symptoms fit, certainly,’ he said. ‘We don’t know much about the poison, but its effects are well documented.’ He got up and reached down a thick book from the shelves beside his desk. ‘If the mushrooms were in his pie on market day,’ he said, riffling through the pages to find the reference he was after, ‘then the timing is right, too. Here we are, Deadly Webcap, Cortinarius speciosissimus… He’d have started feeling poorly a few days later: stomach pains, headache, nausea and the like. It would have seemed like influenza or something similar. Then once the kidney damage started to show, he’d have had all sorts of problems with his waterworks that he’d most likely have kept to himself. Hang on…’ He looked back at the file. ‘Ah, yes, here it is. One of the witnesses says he looked a little “funny coloured”. Jaundice is another sign. Convulsions and death usually come in about a week. I’m surprised he hadn’t succumbed to the effects sooner, though. It says here victims usually slip into a coma.’
‘Strong as oxen, these farming types. It’s all the country dancing,’ said Lady Hardcastle, thoughtfully. ‘But you think it’s possible?’
‘I’d have to run a few tests of my own on the body to be certain,’ he said. ‘But the police surgeon’s report is very thorough and he has taken great pains to rule out most other possible causes. He’s definitely of the opinion that it’s some sort of poison rather than illness or infection. So yes, on balance I’d say it’s extremely possible. Is that what you wanted to hear?’
‘One always likes to have one’s hypotheses validated, so yes, I suppose it is,’ she said. ‘The world would be a much nicer place if he had died of natural causes, I suppose, but if it has to be murder, I’d rather be right about the method than not.’
‘Do you have a suspect?’ he asked.
‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I do. But I need to confirm another matter before I’m certain. That’s our next stop.’
‘How exciting. Will you let me know how you get on?’
‘Of course, darling. The Crown might need an expert witness when it gets to trial.’
‘Not sure that’s me, old girl,’ he said, modestly. ‘But I can put you in touch with a chap at Bart’s – he’s quite utterly utter when it comes to organic poisons.’
‘Thank you, darling. And thank you for letting us interrupt you this morning. You look frightfully busy.’
He looked ruefully at the paper-strewn desk. ‘Trying to prepare a report for the Board on post-operative infection rates.’
‘Well that sounds rather important,’ she said, standing. ‘We shall leave you to it. Are you still at the same address in Clifton?’
‘I am, yes.’
‘Then expect my invi
tation to lunch very soon,’ she said, leaning across the desk to kiss him goodbye.
‘I shall look forward to it.’
I nodded my own farewell and we let ourselves out. He was already writing as I shut the door behind us.
‘That was very encouraging,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we navigated our way back through the maze of hospital corridors to the entrance.
‘It was?’ I said, still somewhat nonplussed.
‘Yes, very much so. There’s been something nagging at me since we started all this, something I only confirmed when I looked at my notes yesterday, and having Simeon confirm that it could easily have been the mushrooms makes my latest hypothesis possible.’
‘You’re not going to tell me, are you,’ I said as we emerged into the spring sunshine.
‘No pet. Poor Emily needs to be indulged.’ She clutched her side. ‘I’ve been poorly.’
I frowned. ‘You know you’re not going to be able to get away with that for much longer, don’t you, my lady.’
‘Just a little longer,’ she said with a mischievous smile.
‘Hmmm,’ I said, as Bert helped her into the car.
‘Where to now, m’lady?’ he said once we were all settled.
‘Two trips for you now, Bert dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘First you need to drop me off at my solicitors’ offices in Small Street, then you need to take Armstrong to the police station.’
‘Finally turning her in, eh, m’lady?’
‘It has to be done, Bert. She’s a menace to society.’
‘Right you are, m’lady,’ he said with a grin.
‘I can hear you, you know,’ I said.
‘Splendid,’ she said. ‘In that case you can listen well to your instructions. I shall be asking my solicitor to look into a few matters for me and while I’m doing that you’re to visit dear Inspector Sunderland and make him fully acquainted with latest developments. Then I want you to invite him to lunch at The Hayrick tomorrow.’
‘Market day,’ I said.
‘Market, as you so rightly say, day. Yes. And tell him to bring a couple of friends. The burlier the better.’
‘You expect him to be able to make an arrest, my lady?’ I said.
‘If all goes according to plan, pet, he should be able to cart the villain away with him.’
‘I shall advise him of the possible need for a black maria, my lady.’
‘Good girl.’
‘And then lunch?’
‘I say,’ she said. ‘What a good idea. We should have invited Sim.’
‘I’m not sure he could spare the time, my lady. He looked snowed-under.’
‘Good point, pet, good point. I say, Bert?’
‘Yes, m’lady?’ he said, looking up at her in his rearview mirror.
‘Do you have lunch?’
‘Yes thank you, m’lady. Mrs Brown packed me some sandwiches.’
‘Splendid. In that case, Florence dear, I might treat you to a slap-up feed at a suitable hotel.’
‘I say,’ I said. ‘Thank you, my lady.’
‘Think nothing of it, pet,’ she said. ‘Bert?’
‘My lady?’ he said.
‘Where do you recommend for lunch in the city?’
‘There’s a place the mistress goes to,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t swear as it would be to your taste.’
‘Dash it all,’ she said, ‘let’s try it. If it’s ghastly we can entirely fail to mention it, and if it’s a triumph, we can tell her what splendid taste she has and she’ll be giddy as a schoolgirl.’
‘Very good, m’lady,’ he said as we rounded a corner into a narrow street. ‘Small Street, m’lady.’
‘Very,’ I said.
‘It’s ahead there on the left,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Green door.’
‘Very good, m’lady,’ said Bert as he inched the car along the narrow street and stopped outside the offices of “Pentelow, Paddock, Playfair & Pugh, Solicitors”.
Bert slipped out to open the door for Lady Hardcastle who stepped onto the pavement without a hint of difficulty.
‘Bridewell Street is just around the corner, Bert,’ she said, adjusting her hat. ‘Drop Armstrong at the police station and wait there; I’ll walk round to you when I’ve finished here.’
‘Very good, m’lady,’ said Bert.
Lady Hardcastle bent down to look into the back of the car and I opened the window. ‘I shouldn’t be too long, pet,’ she said. ‘Tell Inspector Sunderland anything he wants to know and blame me for any gaps in your knowledge.’
‘Right-o, my lady,’ I said.
She turned towards the green door and I saw her stepping inside as Bert drove off.
At police headquarters, I stood at the front desk waiting patiently for the extravagantly-bearded sergeant to notice me. After half a minute I cleared my throat.
The sergeant looked up briefly from his ledger, took in my plain overcoat and hat, and returned at once to his columns of figures. ‘Be with you in a moment, miss,’ he said, distractedly.
I waited another minute, watching the time pass on the large clock on the wall above the sergeant’s head. I cleared my throat again.
The sergeant looked up impatiently. ‘I said I would be with you in a moment, miss.’
‘You did, Sergeant,’ I said, calmly. ‘And several moments have passed. I shan’t take up much of your time; I just wish to see Inspector Sunderland.’
‘Do you, indeed?’ he said. ‘Well I dare say the inspector’s a very busy man. And so am I. Please wait a moment.’ He returned to the ledger once more.
‘The thing is, you see, that I’m really rather busy myself,’ I said, still calmly and politely. ‘I see there’s a bell beside you there. I would wager that all you need do is to ring it and an eager young messenger will appear. You might then instruct him to carry word to Inspector Sunderland that Miss Armstrong wishes to speak to him. It would have taken you less time to do that than it has so far taken you to play this silly game of “I’m More Important Than You”.’
I smiled sweetly.
‘Now listen here, you impertinent–’
There were footsteps on the stairs to my right and two men came into view, chatting amiably. One of them was Inspector Sunderland.
‘Miss Armstrong!’ he said with evident surprise. ‘Fancy seeing you here. I thought you were going to telephone.’
I turned my back on the still-fuming desk sergeant. ‘Good morning, Inspector,’ I said. ‘I believe there might have been some talk of telephones but Lady Hardcastle happened to be in the area so I’ve come to bring our news in person.’
‘There’s news?’ he said raising one eyebrow.
‘Some, sir. And a fair amount of infuriating winking and just-you-wait-and-see-ing.’
He laughed. ‘Come upstairs, I’ll find a room where we can talk privately.’ He turned to the younger man who had accompanied him down the stairs. ‘I’ll leave it in your hands, Portman. And get some uniformed constables to check the sewers. They’re getting in there somehow.’
The young man nodded his assent and marched briskly out of the station.
‘This way, Miss Armstrong,’ said Inspector Sunderland and started walking back up the stairs. He turned back after a few steps. ‘Tea for two, please, Sergeant. Interview Room Three, I think.’
The sergeant mumbled his resentful acknowledgement.
I followed the inspector up the stairs and along a linoleum-floored corridor to a door with a frosted glass window upon which the words “Interview Room 3” were written in black.
‘Come on in,’ said the inspector, opening the door. ‘We’ll not be interrupted in here.’
I followed him into the bare room and we sat at opposite sides of the table.
‘It’s not quite as comfortable as your dining room,’ he said, pulling his notebook from his jacket pocket. ‘But it’s all we have.’
‘It’s fine, Inspector,’ I said with a smile. ‘It’s not the first police interview room I’ve been in.’<
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‘No, miss, I don’t expect it is. Though I don’t suppose you’ve sat on that side of the table before.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised, Inspector,’ I said. ‘Not so often in England, but foreign police forces haven’t always been quite as pleased to see us over the years as one might have hoped.’
He laughed. ‘I dare say your particular brand of mischief doesn’t go down too well with unfriendly foreign governments, no.’
‘I can never understand why,’ I said. ‘We’re just exhibiting a natural and exuberant curiosity for the most part.’
‘By stealing their secrets.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose when you put it like that…’
There was a knock at the door and Sergeant Massive Beard brought in a tray bearing a pot of tea, two cups, a small jug of milk and a few sugar cubes in a bowl. He looked at me sullenly, but said nothing.
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ said the inspector and waited for him to leave. ‘He’s a surly old cuss,’ he said once the door was shut and we heard his boots clomping off down the corridor.
‘There’s always one,’ I said.
‘There is, but I don’t properly understand why we have to put our one on the front desk where he can antagonize the public.’
I poured the tea.
‘So, Miss Armstrong of Littleton Cotterell,’ he said, picking up his pencil and preparing to make notes. ‘What news of the murder of Spencer Carmichael, late of Top Farm? Has much happened since Monday?’
‘Not so very much, but I think it’s turning out to be rather significant,’ I said. I told him about the walk in the woods and our encounter with Jed Halfpenny.
‘I think I remember that name,’ said the inspector. ‘Little chap? Very neat? North Country accent. Ex-Army, I think.’
‘I say,’ I said. ‘I didn’t realize he was famous. It sounds like the same man. He lives in a caravan in the woods.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s the chap,’ he said, looking up at the smoke-stained ceiling as he tried to recall. ‘He was staying up on the Downs for a while, minding his own business, but the locals took a dislike to him and drove him out. He helped us out with a tricky case involving a missing bank clerk, though, I think. Decent chap.’