by T E Kinsey
‘How can you be certain?’ I asked.
‘They told us as much. Coded communication. Could only have come from them.’
‘And what do they want?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘They want to run a bus company.’
I’m ashamed to say that we both erupted into raucous laughter at this news. Mr Purcell waited patiently for our mirth to subside.
‘Autumn Wind was behind the story about Bickle and the lady of the night?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘They were,’ he said.
‘And the fraud story?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the sabotage of the electricity substation?’
‘That too.’
‘And the derailments?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the murder of Nathaniel Morry?’
‘Actually, yes. How did you–?’
‘And now this kidnapping.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that would explain why Inspector Sunderland warned us off the Morry case,’ she said. ‘And all because they want to play at being bus drivers?’
‘Many, many thousands of pounds are at stake,’ said Mr Purcell. ‘A licence to operate the city’s motorbus service is a licence to print money. The tram company and its political friends have blocked the application at every turn and greedy men, especially the greedy men of Autumn Wind, don’t think that blackmail, extortion or even murder are beyond the pale when large sums of money and continuing power and influence are at stake.’
‘It makes a perverse sort of sense,’ she said. ‘And where do we fit in?’
‘In the same rather precarious position as before, I’m afraid. Autumn Wind has its poisonous tendrils running through every part of our society, and as before, the only officers we can truly trust are those who cannot possibly be members.’
‘Women,’ I said.
‘For the most part,’ he said, sadly. ‘They have many other prejudices, but as you know from your earlier encounter with them in Bengal, we know we can guarantee that women are free from… contamination.’
‘We’re also unable to infiltrate,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Our talents lie in gathering intelligence from the inside, Mr Purcell. We fit in, we play the part, we become invisible by our familiarity. People let all manner of things slip when they think one is “one of them”.’
‘I understand the business of intelligence gathering,’ he said. ‘But we don’t need someone to infiltrate Autumn Wind, just someone on the ground who can snoop around the upper echelons of local society and see what she can sniff out.’
‘It’s certainly what we’re good at,’ she agreed, reluctantly.
‘And someone who doesn’t mind getting their hands dirty. I’ve read your file – you both have something of a reputation in the Service. Whenever anyone doubts the wisdom of employing women in our line of work, someone will always say, “What about Emily Hardcastle and Florence Armstrong?” The first chap will say, “Champion snoopers, I don’t doubt, but squeamish when it comes to the dirty work, eh?” And then the second chap will recount a tale of one of your more boisterous exploits, only some of which will be fiction, and the first chap will leave with his mouth agape, pronouncing you She Devils of the most terrifying kind.’
We both laughed again at this.
‘So will you?’ he said.
‘Will we what?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Will you take the assignment?’
‘Can we refuse?’
‘Technically no,’ he said. ‘But realistically we have no way to force you to do anything.’
‘We may need access to resources that are beyond our direct control. May we call on anyone? Anyone in the local police force, for instance?’
‘I was coming to that,’ he said. ‘My next appointment will be a clandestine meeting with someone you’ve already mentioned: Inspector Sunderland. We’ve been keeping an eye on him; it’s a shame he loves his job so much – he’d be an ideal officer in Section W.’
‘Will you tell him about Autumn Wind?’ I said.
‘I’d be surprised if a man like that didn’t already know,’ he said. ‘But I’ll let him have any pertinent details he hasn’t worked out for himself. I’d like you to work with him – he’ll know who on the Force you can trust. Or at the very least, be aware of those you cannot.’
‘And what precisely are we to do?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
‘First and foremost,’ he said, ‘we most urgently need to find Lady Bickle and bring her to safety. But we should also like very, very much to know the names of the members of the local branch of Autumn Wind.’
‘It would be churlish to refuse,’ said Lady Hardcastle after a few moments’ thought. ‘Flo?’
‘Whither thou goest, my lady,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘If there’s anything we need to know, Mr Purcell, you must tell us now.’
And for the next hour, Mr Purcell told us everything that Section W knew.
Once Purcell had gone, we had discussed the matter in great depth. Our deliberations, including the exploration of our many doubts and fears, continued through lunchtime and into the afternoon. At around three o’clock we realized that we were covering the same ground for at least the third time and decided to call a halt to our obsessing and to turn to lighter matters. Our plans were made and there was nothing to do until Inspector Sunderland made contact. We could easily proceed on our own, but it seemed prudent to have an ally who could provide support and keep us apprized of any activity within the police force which might indicate that the forces of evil were on to us.
Neither of us was able to concentrate on work of any sort, so we put together a cold collation (I say “we” but obviously it was mostly my work, with Lady Hardcastle interfering and getting in the way, though she meant well) and divided the rest of the afternoon and evening between card games, another painting lesson (still no improvement) and singing ribald songs at the piano.
At nine o’clock we received a telephone call from Inspector Sunderland. The line was noisy; he had found a pub in Bedminster which had installed a telephone as a novelty but which none of the regulars ever used because they didn’t have anyone to call. Over the din of conversation and the rumble and clatter of a skittles match, we managed to make arrangements to meet him at eleven o’clock the following morning in a tea shop in Chipping Bevington; he had been warned once again not to involve us in any of his ongoing investigations and so it was no longer safe for us to meet in the city.
We played two more hands of cards and then retired.
I was up early as usual the next day and was well on top of the household chores before I woke Lady Hardcastle with her coffee and toast. Breakfast had followed, and we were on the road by half-past ten, on our way to Chipping Bevington with me at the wheel.
‘Oh, do get a move on,’ said Lady Hardcastle as I drove with all proper care and attention along the winding country lanes. ‘You drive like my grandmother.’
‘Your grandmother died twenty years before the invention of the motorcar, my lady,’ I said.
‘My point precisely,’ she replied. ‘You drive like a dead woman.’
‘At least this way we stand a good chance of not joining her in the Great Beyond. And we’ll be at Chipping Bevington in plenty of time.’
She harrumphed but said no more.
I parked the car on a side street and we walked together to the tea shop that Inspector Sunderland had chosen for our meeting. We were – to Lady Hardcastle’s surprise – a few minutes early but the inspector was already there. It took us a moment to spot him; he had chosen a table near the back of the shop which commanded a view of the entrance but which couldn’t so easily be seen by someone walking in.
‘You’ve chosen your seat well, Inspector,’ I said as he stood to greet us.
‘Oh?’ he said, somewhat nonplussed. ‘Really? Thank you.’
‘Very well indeed,’ agreed Lady Hardcastle as she sat down. ‘Very professionally done. You�
�ve had training, I take it?’
‘Training?’ he said. ‘In what?’
‘Espionage and the arcane arts of cloak-and-daggerism,’ she said.
‘No, my lady, just detective work and pinching villains.’ He waited for me to sit and then finally resumed his own seat.
‘Then you’re a natural,’ I said.
‘You are indeed,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘If you ever want a change of profession, we’d happily put in a good word for you.’
‘A change to what?’ he said with a smile. ‘Are you saying that you have contacts in the spying world, Lady Hardcastle? Are you a nozzle?’
She laughed. ‘Oh, heavens, I haven’t heard that word for ages.’
‘It was one of my father’s favourites,’ said the inspector. ‘“Watch out for narks and nozzles, Ollie, m’boy,” he used to say.’
‘Sage advice,’ she said. ‘But obviously if I were any manner of spy I shouldn’t be able to admit to it, Inspector dear, now would I?’
‘Of course not, my lady,’ he said, still smiling broadly. ‘But your friend Purcell had a whiff of the snooper about him, and it would explain a lot of the things I think I know about you.’
‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Do things about us need explaining?’
‘Almost everything,’ he said. ‘But for now I shall have to content myself with knowing that a very powerful and persuasive person from Whitehall wants me to assist you with your investigations without revealing my involvement to anyone at my own station.’
‘And are you willing to do that?’
‘After my encounter with Purcell I didn’t feel that I had a great amount of choice, but it happens that yes, I am willing. I’ve been thinking that there’s something fishy about this whole affair since it began, and I don’t like the way I’ve been manipulated into keeping certain “important” people out of my investigations. I’m sworn to uphold the law on behalf of all the people of England, not just the self-appointed few. And now that Lady Bickle has been taken, there’s more of a sense of urgency to it.’
‘Well said, Inspector,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Well said indeed. Though I actually don’t think Lady Bickle is in imminent danger. There’s too much at stake for them to even begin to think about harming her yet, and I strongly suspect she’s being treated well enough.’
‘Even so…’
‘Quite. We must not shilly-shally, but I think we’ll find her all the more quickly if we find out who’s behind all this and so that’s where we shall be concentrating our efforts.’
‘Very good, my lady’ he said. ‘And that leads us rather neatly to our somewhat unusual role reversal. I’ve become accustomed to having you as my unofficial assistant whenever our paths have crossed, I hope I can manage to be of as much help to you as you have been to me.’
‘Thank you, Inspector, you’re very kind. I shall do my utmost not to be too much of a martinet–’
‘Good luck, Inspector,’ I said with a wink.
‘I shall deal with you later,’ she said. She turned back to the inspector. ‘In the meantime, I think that since Purcell considers you to be free from its influence, it ought to be all right to acquaint you fully with everything we know about Autumn Wind.’
‘He said you would,’ said the inspector. ‘Our meeting was necessarily brief and he didn’t go into detail but he said that you’d almost certainly tell me anyway so I should save my questions for you.’
‘The cheeky blighter,’ she said. ‘No matter. Let’s order another pot of tea and we shall tell you a tale of wonder and intrigue.’
For the next half an hour Lady Hardcastle and I told the inspector everything we knew about Autumn Wind and its history (as far as it had been vouchsafed us by the secretive officers of Section W). We also detailed our suspicions regarding the recent spate of attacks on the Bristol Electric Tram Company, and the suspicions of Mr Brookfield the journalist.
‘In my line of work I’ve heard all manner of paranoid fantasies about secret societies running the country,’ said the inspector when we had finished. ‘We arrested a chap last year who was planning to blow up the Fry’s factory on Union Street because he was convinced that a sinister cabal of Quakers was planning to take control of the country by adding powerful narcotics to chocolate. But from what you say, some of the claims might not be so paranoid or fantastical.’
‘Autumn Wind, at least, isn’t a fantasy, though I doubt that even they would stoop so low as to adulterate chocolate,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘But where do we start with something like this?’ he said. ‘We can’t trust anyone; we must suspect everyone.’
Lady Hardcastle chuckled. ‘That might be veering a little towards the paranoid,’ she said. ‘But we must certainly be circumspect. As for starting… what do you know about the journalist Christian Brookfield?’
‘Who?’
‘Brookfield. He’s the chap who pointed us at the first round of suspects.’
‘Nothing at all,’ said the inspector. ‘Works locally does he?’
‘For the Bristol News, apparently. He gave us the impression that he knew you.’
‘He’s probably new, my lady, but I can’t honestly say I remember ever speaking to him.’
‘Curious,’ she said. ‘We didn’t really ask him for references. Ah well, no matter.’
‘You wanted to know more about him?’ he said.
‘I was just after a second opinion of him, that’s all. I was just going to ask if you thought him a bright fellow.’
‘Bright?’ he said.
‘Bright,’ she said. ‘Perspicacious, quick-witted. No matter.’
‘I can make some enquiries if you like. I know a couple of chaps on the News.’
‘No, Inspector, not for now, but I think I shall speak to him again myself. Now that you know about Autumn Wind, how does it change how you see your investigation of the Morry murder?’
‘I’m afraid it raises more questions than it answers,’ he said. ‘I’d been thinking along the same lines as this Brookfield character and I was all set to question the very same three gentlemen that he put you onto. But now it seems there’s little point; I should almost certainly be looking towards those that might benefit from the fall of the tram company.’
‘If I might make a suggestion,’ she said, ‘I think it might be safer to pursue your old lines of enquiry, at least openly, and report slow but steady progress to your superiors. We must assume that Autumn Wind has influence within the Force and I shouldn’t like to spook them too soon by revealing our true suspicions. By all means look into the dealings of anyone involved with applications for the motorbus licence, but for heaven’s sake, be discreet.’
‘I didn’t get where I am today–’ he began.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I know you didn’t. But I’d rather like it if you were still there tomorrow. The members of Autumn Wind are not above murder, and they can ruin a man in many other devastatingly effective ways if the whim takes them. We must not tip our hand until we are ready to strike. Please be careful, Inspector dear.’
He smiled and nodded. ‘And what shall you two be doing?’ he asked.
‘We shall start, I think, by finding out if Banfield–’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Just testing, pet. We shall find out if Brookfield really is as stupid as he’s trying to make out, and then I think it’s time to put myself about a bit.’
‘I say,’ I said, causing the inspector to snort into his teacup as he tried to take a sip.
Lady Hardcastle raised an eyebrow. ‘In Bristol society,’ she said. ‘It’s about time that Emily, Lady Hardcastle made her mark. We’ll never find out who among the local notables might be up to no good if we don’t know a little more about them. I think it’s time I got myself invited to a few dinners.’
‘And how…?’ The inspector left his question hanging.
‘Leave it to me, Inspector,’ she said. ‘A word here, a letter there – the invitations will come flooding in.
’
He chuckled his familiar throaty chuckle. ‘It’s another world,’ he said.
We arrived home to find Christian Brookfield sitting on the doorstep and he jumped to his feet as soon as I opened the gate for Lady Hardcastle. He caught his satchel on the corner of the step and nearly fell straight back down again, and by the time we reached the door he was still trying to brush the dust from his suit.
‘Good afternoon, my lady,’ he said with a small imitation of a bow. ‘Miss Armstrong.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Brookfield,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Have you been waiting long?’
‘An hour or so,’ he said, amiably.
‘I suppose patience is a valuable trait in your line of work. How on earth did you find us?’
‘I knew from your clippings file that you lived in Littleton Cotterell, but I had to ask in the village for your address.’ He seemed pleased with his ingenuity and either hadn’t noticed the frostiness in Lady Hardcastle’s tone or simply regarded being on the wrong end of disapproval and hostility as an inevitable consequence of his chosen profession.
‘I see,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Lady Hardcastle brushed past Brookfield and had taken off her had and coat before she turned back to him and said, ‘You’ve come all this way, Mr Brookfield; you’d better come in.’
He wiped his feet and stepped into the hall where I took his hat and placed it on the hall table with his gloves. Lady Hardcastle had gone through into the drawing room and I gestured for him to follow her.
She was waiting for him with her hand resting on the back of one of the armchairs and quite the most formidable expression on her face.
‘Mr Brookfield,’ she began as soon as he entered the room, ‘I appreciate the urgency of the matter, and no one desires that the murderer of Mr Morry be brought to justice more than I, but I really must insist that if you do decide to call unannounced and find that we are out, you do not under any circumstances hang about on our doorstep as though one of us is the subject of some lurid scandal and you’re hoping to get an exclusive interview. Do I make myself clear?’