The Spirit Is Willing (The Lady Hardcastle Mysteries Book 2)

by T E Kinsey

  ‘What ho!’ called Lady Hardcastle. ‘Are you there, Constable Hancock?’

  The constable hurried in from the door on the left.

  ‘Good afternoon, m’lady,’ he said, knuckling his forehead. ‘Sergeant Dobson found you in, then?’

  ‘And almost ready for visitors,’ she said. ‘And after he’d told his tale, we hurried over here as fast as our shapely legs would carry us.’

  The constable blushed slightly.

  ‘Take no notice, Constable,’ I said. ‘She just likes to see how much she can discomfit people with her inappropriate remarks. Mind you,’ I whispered, conspiratorially, ‘she’s right – we do have very shapely legs.’

  He flushed a brighter shade of crimson and Lady Hardcastle laughed. ‘Why don’t we forget about legs,’ she said, ‘and concentrate instead on feet. The sergeant says you have some footprints to show us.’

  ‘I do indeed, m’lady,’ said the tall young constable. ‘Follow me.’

  He led us out through the door through which he had just entered the bar, past the bottom of the staircase and along a corridor with windows on the left-hand side looking out onto the verandah and the pitch, and higher windows on the right which presumably provided further illumination for the committee room. As we neared the door to the room, I noticed the footprints on the polished floorboards.

  I stopped to look more closely. ‘It seems he came in through that door at the end of the corridor…’ I said, indicating the closed door several feet in front of us. ‘…and walked this way… he stood on tiptoes here, look, probably to look in through the window to check that the room was empty… then doubled back to the committee room door.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Huge feet, too.’

  ‘Size twelve, I reckons,’ said the constable. He indicated his own boots. ‘I wears tens but they’s much bigger than mine.’

  ‘And how tall are you, constable?’ she asked.

  ‘Six foot exactly, m’lady.’

  ‘So our thief would almost certainly be taller than that. It does rather narrow the pool of suspects, eh, Flo?’

  ‘There can’t be many men in the area above six feet tall, my lady, no.’

  ‘And most of ’em plays for the rugby team,’ said Hancock.

  ‘Do they?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Do they indeed? Well, well, well.’

  ‘What’s through there?’ I asked, indicating the door at the end of the corridor.

  ‘That’s the store room, miss,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll look at that in a moment,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’d like to take a look at the trophy cabinet first if I may.’

  Stepping carefully around the oily bootprints, we entered the committee room. In contrast to the Spartan functionality of the main bar, the committee’s accommodations were a great deal more comfortable. The room was rectangular, with the windows looking out onto the corridor along one long, oak-panelled wall, and boards along the other bearing the names of past presidents and honouring various club members past and present for their achievements on the field. The leather-topped table and luxuriously upholstered chairs were polished and apparently undisturbed by the intruder, but he had left oily bootprints on the floor. There was a fireplace on the short wall at the other end of the room which clearly shared a chimney with the stove in the bar and that seemed to have been his destination. There was a heavily-laden, deep-shelved bookcase set in one of the alcoves, with the trophy cabinet in the other.

  ‘So, he comes in here…’ I said, ‘…walks along this wall around the edge of the carpet… and stops… here.’ I was standing in front of the right-hand alcove and the empty trophy cabinet built into it.

  The cabinet was extremely well fitted, clearly the work of a craftsman. It stood from floor to ceiling and filled the alcove precisely without the tiniest fraction of an inch to spare. It was made of a dark wood, polished to a high sheen, with gleaming glass-panelled doors.

  I went to open it. ‘Is it all right to touch things, Constable?’ I said. ‘Do I have to be wary of fingerprints?’

  ‘There i’n’t none as I can see, miss,’ he said. ‘Very careful, he was.’

  I opened the doors and looked inside. The shallow shelves were clean an polished, just like the exterior, though a shade darker giving a pleasing feeling of texture to the design. There was a length of beading along the front of each shelf to form a lip which seemed like a splendidly clever way to prevent things from rolling out. Other than that, the cupboard was bare. I closed the doors.

  Lady Hardcastle, meanwhile, had been looking around the room and came over to rummage in the bag hanging over my shoulder for her sketch pad and pencils. While I followed Constable Hancock to the store room, she began to sketch the scene of the crime.

  The store was dark and musty. There was a lantern hanging from a hook but the constable ignored it and walked across to the large double doors at the other end. He threw them open and the dingy room was illuminated by the bright afternoon sun.

  Occupying pride of place near the doors was a massive Ransomes lawnmower. I’d seen such a machine before at the country estate of one of Lady Hardcastle’s friends, but never in the hands of a tiny country rugby club. It must have stood nearly as tall as me and weighed over a ton. There was a wide-based oilcan lying on its side beside it, and its spilled contents were clearly the source of the footprints we had been following.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘The rest of the trail is of two sets of muddled prints, with the boots facing in opposite directions… but between the here and the outer door there’s just one set, heading out. It seems that our thief came in through the door, stepped in the oil, went to the corridor, took a peek through the window, entered the committee room, pinched the trophies and then retraced his steps back out through the store.’

  ‘That’s how I sees it, miss,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose you had a rootle round outside?’ I said.

  ‘I rootled like a good ’un, miss,’ said Hancock with a chuckle. ‘Didn’t find nothin’, mind. The grass wiped his boots clean and the trail disappears. He was headin’ back to the road, though, I reckons.’

  ‘It certainly looks like it, doesn’t it,’ I agreed. ‘Ah well, nothing much else to see here. Let’s go and see how Lady Whatshername is getting on.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, pet,’ she said from the doorway. ‘What have I missed?’

  I explained my thoughts on the trail as she looked around the storeroom for herself, sketching as she went. ‘It was certainly very obliging of him to leave such obvious spoor,’ she said as she crouched to examine the spilled oilcan.

  ‘I wouldn’t read too much into it, m’lady,’ said Hancock. ‘No one ever lost money bettin’ on the stupidity of the average criminal. Like as not he really was too gormless to realize what a trail he was leavin’.’

  ‘I dare say,’ she said, pensively. ‘Who found that they’d been burgled?’

  ‘Caretaker, m’lady. Morris Freeborn.’

  ‘Trustworthy chap?’

  ‘Trustworthy as they come, m’lady,’ he said. ‘He i’n’t so bright, but he’s the salt of the earth. He come in this mornin’ to clear up. He took one look at the bar, but decided to come out to check the committee room first, start himself off gentle, like. And that's where he finds the bootprints. He follows them into the room, he finds the cabinet empty and then he was straight back out on his bike to fetch me and the sergeant. He was in a bit of a state so we sent him home.’

  ‘Very thoughtful of you,’ said Lady Hardcastle with a smile. ‘Well, I confess I’m no expert on the scenes of crimes so I’m not entirely sure I know what else to look for. I think we ought to leave that to you, Sergeant.’

  ‘Thank you, m’lady,’ he said. ‘But to tell the truth I don’t reckon there’s much more to be seen. I was plannin’ to lock up and head back to the station.’

  ‘Right you are,’ she said, ‘We’ll walk with you.’

  We heard the sound of the
main doors opening. ‘Is anyone there?’ called a man’s voice. I recognized it from the previous evening as Lancelot Treble.

  ‘In the storeroom,’ called the sergeant in reply.

  We left the storeroom and met Mr Treble in the corridor; he wanted to see the empty cabinet for himself. We left him to it, telling him that we’d wait for him in the main room where Lady Hardcastle and I made ourselves comfortable in the armchairs near the stove. Constable Hancock milled restlessly about, clearly unable to make up his mind whether to stay or go, and eventually ambled outside into the sunshine.

  At length Mr Treble finished his examination of the scene of the crime and joined us in the main room. He flopped into a chair. Lady Hardcastle raised an eyebrow but it took a few moments for Mr Treble to notice.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Lady H,’ he said lazily. ‘Don’t mind if I sit down? It’s been a bit of a morning.’

  ‘Help yourself,’ she said with a faint hint of frostiness. ‘It’s your clubhouse.’

  He made no reply but just sighed theatrically and rested his head on the back of the armchair with his eyes closed. After gathering his wits for a few moments, he opened his eyes once more and looked towards Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘If you don't mind my asking,’ he said in a tone that carried no genuine concern whether she minded or not, ‘what on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘We’re investigating your burglary,’ said Lady Hardcastle, politely.

  ‘You’re doing what?’ he said with some astonishment.

  ‘Investigating your burglary,’ she said again, affably.

  ‘And why on earth...?’

  ‘Sergeant Dobson asked us to. We’ve helped him out with a few things in the past and he thought we might be able to help him get to the bottom of this little mystery.’

  He laughed. ‘Well I never. You’ll forgive me if I suggest that there’s not really much of a mystery here, though. Some passing scallywag tried the back door, found it open, and came in to help himself to the contents of the trophy cabinet.’

  ‘That much is true,’ she said. ‘But it ignores a couple of interesting things. Not only did he go directly to the committee room as though he knew that’s where the trophies were, but he completely ignored two cases of scotch, one of gin, several cases of wine, two barrels of beer and one of cider – all eminently marketable items – and went straight for some memorabilia with value only to the club and a very recognizable trophy which will be almost impossible to sell.’

  Treble sat a little straighter and his look of condescension faded away. ‘Well, I never,’ he said again. ‘You really are rather good, aren’t you. My apologies if I seemed rude, my lady. It’s been a disappointing morning.’ His tone had changed from faint mockery to ill-concealed wariness.

  ‘Please, think nothing of it,’ she said with a smile. ‘Have you had a chance to have a good look round? Is anything else missing? Any money?’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘No, we’d never keep club money on the premises, even if we had any. There’s a few bob in the cash box behind the bar, but that’s not been touched.’

  ‘No money? But you have that frightfully expensive lawnmower.’

  ‘Gift from an old member. Made his fortune in the colonies in oil, or tin, or rubber, or something. Said he wanted to give something back to the club that had brought him so much joy as a young man. We could have done with the cash, to be honest, but it keeps the pitch looking smart, I suppose.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘So tell me what happened last night.’

  ‘There’s a reason we leave the ladies behind,’ he said with a grin. ‘A chap’s got to have one or two secrets from the missus.’

  ‘In general terms, then, without betraying any confidences. I’m not sure we’re quite ready for the gorier details.’

  ‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘We arrived here by charabanc at around a quarter to one, I’d guess. Strong liquor was taken, yarns were spun, songs were sung, pranks were played and the gentlemen of the club began to drift off to their homes and their slumbering loved ones at about three. By a quarter to four only Flying Billy, Big Jim, Lofty and I remained, so we did our best to tidy up…’ he ruefully indicated the chaos of the room, ‘…and then let ourselves out of the front door, carefully locking it behind us.’

  ‘Without checking the storeroom door?’ I asked.

  ‘We barely managed what we did, my dear,’ he said. ‘I fear that remembering to check the back doors was quite beyond us.’

  ‘And you walked home?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Yes, the four of us staggered out onto the road and wended our weary way back to the village.’

  ‘You stayed together?’

  ‘Not the whole way,’ he said. ‘We gradually split up as we passed nearby each chap’s house. Lofty went first, then Billy, then I left Big Jim to walk the last quarter mile on his own.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else?’

  ‘I think we saw Toby Thompson getting his cows in for milking – early start for those chaps, not sure I could stand it myself.’

  ‘But no one you didn’t recognize? No mystery miscreants?’ she said.

  ‘We could barely recognize each other by then,’ he said. ‘But no, no lurking lawbreakers or vagrant villains.’

  ‘Any nefarious ne’er-do-wells?’ I said.

  ‘No, nor any felonious footpads,’ he replied with a smile.

  Lady Hardcastle had taken out her notepad and pencil. ‘These other three chaps,’ she said, ‘what were their names again? They sounded like a gang of rogues and ruffians themselves.’

  He chuckled. ‘Couldn’t be further from the truth. There was “Flying” Billy Flynn; he’s our left winger. Then there was Big Jim Molson; he plays in the front row. And last but by no means the least substantial, there was Donovan “Lofty” Tredegar; he’s a lock forward.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, scribbling down the details. ‘Do you have addresses for them? I should like to speak to them.’

  ‘Of course. But if you come over here on Monday evening they’ll all be here for training.’

  ‘Training?’ I said. ‘I thought the season was over.’

  ‘Final day of the season next week,’ he said. ‘We traditionally host a bit of a picnic and booze-up here for the local clubs – Chipping Bevington, Woodworthy, and so on – and we have a five-a-side tournament. It’s just a bit of fun but everyone likes to take it seriously. They’ll be discussing tactics and whatnot on Monday.’

  ‘If you have no objections, then,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘we shall come over and have a quick word with them, just to see if any of them remembers anything useful.’

  ‘You’ll both be more than welcome,’ he said. ‘We start at around six o’clock and we’ll likely be here until at least nine.’

  Lady Hardcastle put her notebook back in here bag and stood. I rose, too, and this time Mr Treble was more mindful of his manners and leapt to his own feet.

  ‘We shall see you on Monday evening, then,’ she said.

  ‘I look forward to it,’ he replied, with a little bow. ‘Is it all right if Freeborn comes over and cleans the place up now?’

  ‘Check with the constable,’ she said, ‘but tell him I have no objections.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Hardcastle,’ he said. ‘Good day to you.’

  ‘And good day to you, Mr Treble.’

  We went back out into the sunshine and looked for Constable Hancock but he was nowhere to be seen so we set off for home, stopping at the police station on the way to make a brief report to Sergeant Dobson.

  Sunday. Ah, Sunday. What would life be without Sundays? A good deal more interesting, I fancy. Somehow we endured another one, sustained by the pleasure of spending several hours in the dining room after lunch creating another Crime Board in an attempt to resolve the mystery of the purloined trophy.

  ‘It seems to me,’ said Lady Hardcastle, carefully placing her coffee cup back on its saucer and gazing at the blackboard, ‘that our thief must have had
an extra special reason to steal only the cup and the other tat. The first thing anyone says when they see what happened is, “Why didn’t he take the booze and the cash?” He walked past some very saleable loot and went straight for the junk and the cup.’

  ‘It does seem very odd, my lady,’ I said. ‘And he definitely knew where he was going, too. He even knew he could take a look in through the window to make sure the coast was clear.’

  ‘It’s an inside job, isn’t it,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t see any reasonable alternative. It’s someone who knew the club and had some special reason for pinching the memorabilia and the cup. No passing opportunist would have done that.’

  ‘Nor would they have been so foolish as to step in the oil and leave such obvious tracks,’ she said. ‘Even the most dullardly thief would take care over something like that.’

  ‘A drunken rugby player on the other hand…’

  ‘Well, quite,’ she said, standing up. ‘We must definitely go along to their training tomorrow evening and see what Treble’s three friends have to say for themselves.’

  ‘Right you are, my lady,’ I said. ‘Tea?’

  ‘What a splendid idea,’ she said. ‘And perhaps some toast and marmalade.’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  Monday passed in a blur of laundry, grocery shopping and nagging Lady Hardcastle to tidy the papers in her study. We had taken tea in the garden and by the time I had tidied up and made sure that there was something interesting in the pantry for supper, I was exhausted. I wasn’t at all looking forward to the trip to the rugby club.

  ‘Oh come on,’ chivvied Lady Hardcastle. ‘Don’t be such a misery guts. It’ll be fun, I promise. There’s a mystery there, just waiting to be solved.’

  ‘And sweaty men in rugger togs,’ I said with a grimace.

  ‘That too. It’ll be a lark. Best foot forward, missy; the sooner we get there, the sooner we’re back.’

  And so we had strolled in the warm evening air back to the rugby club.